These Modest Killings
by SpeedofInfinity
Summary: The BAU goes to Ireland to stop an unsub from terrorizing the children of a poor Irish town. The unsub, motivated by J.Swift's "A Modest Proposal," believes that killing the children ends the town's plight, but all the BAU finds is unspeakable human brutality. Can the unsub be caught before all the children are dead? Meanwhile, Reid struggles with the possibility of losing someone.
1. Chapter 1: Stressor

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**A/N: I am extremely excited with this new piece, but I must warn you right now: It is not going to be happy. At all, though I wouldn't know why you came to a Criminal Minds fic looking for happiness in the first place...Simply, no. For the weak-hearted and the compassionate, there is a reason this fic is rated M. It's certainly not for smut. Keep this in mind, and with future chapters, read cautiously, dear readers.  
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Chapter 1: Stressor

In a dark, crudely lit room, a victim thrashed about, fighting to break free from her captor. The understanding of an imminent death is clear, though she still squirmed and caused her oppressor much trouble, to his surprise. None of them had ever fought this hard for a few more seconds of life.

He wrinkled his forehead and scrunched his eyebrows together, disgruntled by her defiance, but soon, he quickly gained control, and quickly, he pinned her down, holding her tightly once more. He could see the petrified expression frozen on her face and heard her piercing screeches and frenzied, yet weakened attempts to break free.

Quickly, he grabbed his large, thick knife and swiftly brought it down upon her neck before she had a chance to escape...

_THUD._

The hen's head rolled off with a spurt of pooling blood, and John Collins exhaled, letting a sigh of relief fall from his lips. _Finally_, he had beaten that stubborn hen. She just didn't want to die…. It was natural, of course, but _this_ hen had caused him more trouble than the game and animals.

As the carcass contorted with post mortem spasms, John dropped the bloodied knife in the sink, and finally, when the dead, decapitated hen finished convulsing, he hung her up on one of his many hooks for her to bleed out before washing his hands.

Pushing aside a screen door, he then walked to the front of his shop where his customer sat, waiting.

"So, did you finally get her, John?" he smiled. "I heard quite a bit of screeching in there."

John nodded grimly. "…In the end, yes…But she did put up quite a fight. I haven't seen such a feisty hen like her in a long time, Neil." He raised his hands, dotted with peck marks and scratches.

Neil winced. "Ah, sorry about that, John. I've been hunting whatever I could find, you know. My little lass Shelly, well…she's growing and she's got quite a mouth on her [1] all the time…And the wife's eating me head off at home for it [2]." He smiled apologetically. "That was the only chicken I could catch, and well, we've got to eat somehow."

John nodded understandingly. This little town of Kensdale was going through quite a hard time. People were starving, business was slow, and the general mood of the town remained dismally dreary and gloomy. The only thing that kept the town a bit cheerful and hopeful were its children. Oh, those children! Everyone enjoyed watching the small little children prance around, grinning and laughing at everything, as it was one of the few things left that could bring a smile to their weary faces. Simply, the town lived for the children. Everything all these struggling parents and weary teachers did were _for_ those children, and it took a heavy toll on the adults in the town.

"Well, then. I'll be back in a few to pick it up, yeah?" Neil said, shaking John from his thoughts.

"Alright. I'll have its feathers out and prepared, then." John acknowledged, waving his hand.

Neil smiled gratefully and walked out, pulling his worn coat closer to him to try and combat the biting cold of fall.

John sighed. It just wasn't fair that all these people were so..._poor_. No one was better off than anybody, and everyone suffered in equal terms. If there was only a way to fix this…Somehow, there _had_ to be a way. John's head throbbed painfully, only a reminder of the limited days he had left, and he wondered how long he could last before he was gone.

Attempting to disregard the pain and blurry vision but failing anyways, John moved to retrieve the dead hen and dunked it into a pot of boiling water to loosen the feathers. After a few moments, John brought the pot outside to the front of his little butchery where he transferred the chicken to a smaller bowl. He waited for a few customers to trickle in while rapidly plucking the feathers off the heated chicken.

After all the feathers had been taken off, the body that remained was scrawny and ultimately, tiny. There was no way Neil and his whole family could eat well.

Sighing, he began to wrap up the chicken for Neil and put it aside. Suddenly, the front door opened, and Mrs. O'Callaghan rushed in while dragging her two noisy children inside with her.

"Not now, Anne!" she exasperatedly said. "Be nice to Tommy, okay? Mummy has to go buy dinner."

Her daughter pouted, still bothering her brother. Ah…kids will be kids. But, at the mention of dinner, little Tommy's eyes lit up and ignored his sister.

"Mummy!" he cried. "Can we have some roast tonight?"

Mrs. O'Callaghan sighed sorrowfully. "We'll see, Tommy. We'll see…" She then turned to John who quietly observed the scene with his jaw clenched tightly.

"Hello, John." She said. "I suppose…do you have any cheap cuts of beef today? My little ones are quickly getting tired of soup and potatoes…and my husband wants something a bit more substantial." She smiled sadly, clutching a worn purse.

John's lip twitched. _This town needed help…_he thought. "Unfortunately, no cheap beef today…" he apologetically said. Mrs. O'Callaghan nodded sadly, already expecting this answer. "Oh, but I think I have some relatively cheap bits of pork if you'd still like some." John added, gesturing some slabs of pink meat.

Mrs. O'Callaghan clasped her hands together. "Thank You! Oh, my husband will be so pleased! For the last few days, well…we've been eating less and less. It's more important for the children to eat, you know…Thank You!"

John winced. "I'm…sorry."

"Oh, it's alright. It's just the burden of being a parent, you know. My children are more important than these old bones, John…Someday, it'll be alright, but for now, yes. My children come before me, and my husband feels the same." Mrs. O'Callaghan proudly said, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach.

John said nothing, but wrapped up her package, took her money, and watched her leave. Some parents just would do anything for their children. John couldn't remember a time when his own father ever sacrificed anything for _him_.

The day passed by bitterly, as John witnessed more and more people rushing in for cheap meat and mostly _anything_ to eat, claiming that their poor children were starving. He could see their tired eyes and their overwhelming thinness._ They_, too, were most likely starving themselves so that their children could it a bit more.

It was just….so _selfless…_

John's heart broke for these people. He hated seeing all these people of Ireland _suffer. _There _had_ to be some way to help all these people, but what was the root of this poverty? Yes, tourism was low, but still…there had to be _something _else…

After many more hours of mechanical work while thinking of Neil…and Mrs. O'Callaghan and countless other customers, John's mind clicked.

John finally figured out the root of the Irish people's problems.

It was the _children_.

_They_ were the ones that had been dragging down this whole town. _Parents_ starved for _them_. _Their_ issues plagued the whole town. The town took care of _their_ every need. And, the town was poor enough already. They couldn't focus their attention on _just the children…_

_It was the children…_

With this consuming thought in his mind, John began to lock up the butchery and head home, still thinking of what to do…

When he got home after a long, distressing day at work, John picked up his mail on the dining table and carried them to his room where he opened them and read everything.

_Bill….Bill…Bill….Coupons…._What's this?

John lifted up a red letter and tore it open.

_Dear Mr. Collins,_

_We understand that your poor health has affected your ability to pay child support for Seamus, your stepson, but skipping five payments is unacceptable. Here are the five bills you must pay before the end of the month or you will be summoned to court…_

The letter rambled on and on about legal procedures, but John paid no attention to them.

Oh, God….Moira was making him pay again…

John used to be married…happily, too, to Moira. She had a son, Seamus, from a previous marriage, but John had tolerated him. Seamus was a bright kid, and John had seen some vast potential in him in becoming a doctor. He pushed him to forget about rugby, Seamus' favorite sport, and study hard. As a result, stepfather and stepson clashed incessantly. Years went by, and Moira finally divorced him, claiming him to be too oppressive towards Seamus and never home, as he worked long hours at his butchery…

Crumpling up the letter and the stack of checks, he tossed them in a corner. He growled, remembering how Moira left him…After all he had done for them! How many times had he saved them from starvation? How many times had he provided a meager income for them? How many times?

_Too many_.

And now, his wife divorced him and his stepson, whom he helped raise from a considerably young age, defied him daily, playing his childish sport rugby instead of studying medicine like he told him to...

He was only looking out for them. And, look where that got him. Stuck indebted to pay child support to a silly boy who was not even his own _son_.

Oh, yes. Children _did_ bring this town down, and something _had_ to do something about it.

_Someone_ needed to do something about the children.

But, John let all thoughts regarding the accursed child support flee his mind as he became subject to another fit of headaches and blurry vision. John clutched his head and dizzily spun around the room, knocking into his bookshelf, causing several books to fall. After falling to the floor and blinking rapidly until his blurry vision ceased, he pulled himself upwards after a considerable amount of time passed, and stared at the fallen books.

Perhaps…. Perhaps a bit of reading will help.

John loved reading, and although he originally wished to become a doctor, he still loved literature all the same. It was truly magical…Simple black and white words on a page had the ability to transport the reader to a different world and escape reality for a bit. John smiled despite the previously dark thoughts that had occupied his mind.

He needed a bit of escaping right now…or really _anything_ to forget his suffering and the town's plight for a little while…

Reaching for a book from the pile on the floor, a beaten and tattered book caught John's eye. Picking it up, he wryly smiled when he read the title.

_European Literature Honors:_

_Reader_

Oh, yes…John had taken a lovely course while he was still in university, and he remembered all the interesting and compelling literature he had read. Now, cracking open the book, he ran his fingers down the notes scrawled in the margins and the bold words before his eyes.

Ah yes…Nietzsche…Voltaire….Oh, and who was this?

_Jonathan Swift._

Jonathan Swift….Jonathan Swift…John felt ashamed that he couldn't remember who he was…

John flipped to the page in the book where Swift's essay was located.

_A Modest Proposal_

A Modest Proposal…About what? How come he could not remember anything about this work? Oh…It must be his damned head again….It throbbed painfully to remind John once more of his condition.

But, okay. He might as well just read it once more…for old times sake.

Glancing over at the first introductory sentence, his heart began to speed up…No way…This _had_ to be a coincidence…_How_ could it be this relevant to his town's current situation? No way….John read it again in disbelief, but there it was…

"_For preventing the children of poor people in Ireland from being a burden to their parents or country, and for making them beneficial to the public." _

Oh my….Could this show him how to help the people of Kensdale? If this was only the first sentence, what propositions to bettering the poor lay ahead? John eagerly read the first page and stopped to let it all sink in, forgetting his old notes scrawled over the margins pointing out the satire.

_Yes…._

Yes.

Why had he not remembered this brilliant essay before? Whatever God out there had reminded him of this gift. _This_ work could show him how to save his poor town. _This_ work would guide him, as he would attempt to save the town.

If only he had remembered this sooner! Then, perhaps he could have taken action sooner…

But, yes.

Somebody had to save all these poor people from this crippling poverty.

And, John thought himself the perfect person.

What did he have to lose? Nothing. He had no future, his dreams of becoming of a doctor were crushed long ago, his ex-wife and stepson isolated themselves from him, and most importantly, he had an unremovable brain tumor. So…It was time for him to do some good in this world.

Praising the brilliance of Swift's work once more, John, inspired by what he had just read, began to think and plot exactly _how_ he could pull this off. Oh, yes…Something_ would_ be done…for the suffering parents, the whole town, and for glorious _Ireland_ itself.

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A/N: (again... :) Jonathan Swift's _A Modest Proposal_ is a brilliant essay that incorporates heavy use of satire to highlight the distressing economic issues of Ireland's poor in his time, and I all urge you to read it.

[1]- "She's got quite a mouth on her" = She's quite hungry.

[2]-"...Eating me head off." = Essentially, it's to verbally abuse someone.


	2. Chapter 2: The Beginning

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

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Chapter 2: The Beginning

John began carrying his old literature reader with him wherever he went as a constant reminder of his new purpose and mission. Every passing day, he witnessed saddening scenes of poverty as people streamed into his butchery looking for anything cheap to eat while too many others wandered the town begging for any spare change. These people all either had small children trailing them or grandchildren, and again, it was too heartbreaking to see Kensdale starve. And every day, John began to meticulously plan the details of Kensdales' salvation.

Essentially, though, the children had to go.

From babies to lanky pre-pubescent children, they all had to _go._

Kensdale could rebuild later, after this was all done. After all the children were gone, nothing could stop this town from regenerating itself into a new age of happiness and prosperity. _Then_, John supposed the town could afford to repopulate and raise children and look after them because everyone would not suffer for their survival.

But, how was he going to lure the children without getting caught?

John closed his shop up for a lunch break and sat outside the backdoor of his butchery eating a small sandwich. Chewing quietly, he thought of all the possible ways he could lure the children. Should he offer them toys? No…they probably had all the toys they needed and, besides, he had _no_ toys anyways. Hmm…He needed something the children actually _wanted_ or _craved…_

Finally, after a few moments of silent thinking, John figured out what he needed, and he already _had_ it, too.

The children craved _meat_. They wanted good _food_. It was rather sad and cruel to take advantage of such a desire, but in this town, _everybody_ wanted to eat well. And, he had the means of supplying the bait.

Now, where would he hunt the children?

He had already prepared mostly everything and located all the tools he needed to root out the children from the town, but...he was missing the children his glorious plan required.

He couldn't save Kensdale without ridding the people of their children, and he most certainly could not start enacting his plan without acquiring some _children_.

Childish laughter jolted him from his thoughts, and suddenly, the O'Callaghan kids, Anne and Tommy, ran past him, chasing a bright blue ball. They kicked it back and forth with each other until Tommy kicked it too hard in the wrong direction. The ball rolled to a stop at John's feet.

And, when he stopped to pick up the ball, he knew _exactly _how he would lure these particular children. This was too good to be true. He didn't even have to _try_ hard to even find some kids…

"Hullo there, kids!" he called, waving them over. The younger O'Callaghans eagerly ran over to retrieve their ball.

"Mr. Collins! Would you like to play with us?" Tommy asked.

"Oh, no…I'm afraid I don't have time today, though. You see, I'm doing some very important things for my customers…" John waited until he made sure he had their attention. And sure enough, the children's curiosity was instantly sparked, and they tilted their heads, wondering exactly what could that important thing possibly be.

John lowered his voice to a whisper and baited them. "So many people have been asking for roasts, but I never seem to have any for them that they can buy…So, guess what? I got some more for them! Do you like roasts, Tommy? Anne?"

Tommy instantly smiled at the mention of the food. John had remembered how Tommy had bothered his mother for some and how he sulked after she didn't buy any.

"Oh, yes! I love it!" he cried out.

"…If you want, Tommy…I have some in my butchery. Would you like to bring some home for your parents so your mummy can cook it for you?" John continued, luring them in.

"Yes _please_, Mr. Collins." Tommy beamed. "Did you hear that, Anne? We get to eat a real, whole roast tonight! Thank you, Mr. Collins."

Anne, however, as she was a bit older than Tommy, had more common sense than he did and frowned skeptically at John's words.

"…I don't know, Tommy…We don't have any money with us and Mum's not here with us right now. I think we should come back later…" she said, tugging his arm away.

No! He couldn't let them get away, and he had them right _here!_

"It's just right here!" John said hurriedly, gesturing inside his butchery. "I'll get it really quickly for you so you can run home and take it to your mummy right away!"

"Come on, Anne! Let's go get some!" Tommy yelled, pushing his sister inside the butchery. Sighing, she complied and allowed herself to be dragged inside.

_Perfect_.

Looking outside, John made sure no one saw the children enter his butchery, and with that, he ushered them inside and walked towards the far left of the back of his butchery. The children followed, looking around at the meat hanging from the walls and the many knives laying around.

"So…where are the roasts, Mr. Collins?" little Tommy asked, tugging John's long coat.

"Be patient, Tommy!" Anne snapped. "It's good enough he's giving us some in the first place!" Tommy stuck his tongue out at his sister but quieted down anyways.

"It's quite alright kids, just come along now." John said, leading them towards the back of his butchery.

John moved aside some storage containers and a filthy rug underneath to reveal a small metal square, about three feet long and three feet wide. Reaching for a key from his neck, John pushed the key into a metal lock on the square and twisted it open. He swung the square open to reveal some stairs leading downwards.

"Come on, children." He called to the awestruck children. "I store my roasts down there."

Excited, they climbed down the stairs. John paused for a moment, looking around to make sure no one had spotted the children before relaxing and following them down.

When John's bitter father was still alive and able-bodied, he had slaved tirelessly on this little basement in the butchery. There, he had hollowed out and fabricated about three large rooms. Most of his prized meats were stored in a cold room. Another room, the first room downstairs, was just a simple room to sit around and relax in when business got to stressful. The last room…. well…The last room housed numerous amounts of chloroform and rags drenched in it.

Chloroform, contrary to popular belief, did not immediately knock people out when pressed to a person's face. That method was deadly and could often cause unintentional death. John's father taught him that if you herded a bunch of animals saved for slaughter inside a room with a decent amount of chloroform in the air, in no less than about…five minutes, all the animals would fall unconscious.

The only danger was keeping the chloroform inside the room and not smelling _any_ of it. John had not used _that_ room in a long time, but now he needed more than ever to save Kensdale and lift up these suffering Irish people from these troubling times.

So, before luring some children, John had went back down into the butchery's basement, put on an old mouth mask, and drenched more rags in chloroform, leaving them around the room as the substance diffused in the air…

Continuing to walk down the stairs, Tommy gazed around the basement excitedly. "This is so cool! A secret place! And, we finally get to eat a proper roast, Anne!"

Anne smiled back at her brother. "I know! When was the last time Mummy cooked it for us? Was it…three years ago or two?"

Oh dear…John hurried them along, passing the first two rooms and ushered them inside the lethal third room. Pulling a mouth mask from his pocket, he placed it over his mouth. Anne and Tommy peered inside the room, empty for the most part, and slowly walked inside.

"Where's the roast?" Tommy said, looking back at John. "…And why do you have that mask thing over your mouth?"

Anne frowned, surveying the room, getting suspicious . "…It smells funny. Mr. Collins? What are we doing here? There is no meat down here like you promised."

John stepped further and further back from the room until he was just outside the door.

"Oh, children, just wait! You'll be so beneficial to Ireland! Just think! Your parents wouldn't have to worry about feeding you ever again!" He said, his words slightly muffled by his mouth mask.

With that, he slammed the door shut, locking it out from the outside. Within seconds, he heard Anne run towards the door and shake the handle.

"Hey! Let us out!" she cried, slamming her small body against the door.

John observed the scene from a circular, glass window in the door. Yes…the chloroform _did_ take quite a bit of time to knock living creatures out.

Tommy promptly dropped to the ground and started to cry, his wailing bouncing off the walls.

"Mummy! I want my mummy!" he sobbed, rubbing his eyes pitifully.

Anne stopped harassing the door and ran to her little brother.

"There, there, Tommy…It'll be alright."

He only cried harder and harder, and Anne, catching a glimpse of John from the window, started to screech and yell at him as her face contorted into a mask of all the betrayal and fury a young child could muster.

John had to leave and walk back up the stairs to his butchery. He couldn't watch this at all. When he was little, he used to help his own father herd the smaller animals in the chloroform- filled room, but in the span of about five minutes it took for the animals to pass out, none ever screamed and cried like the O'Callaghan children did.

John ran up the stairs, quickening his pace when he realized he could still hear the heartbreaking noise, and sat on the floor clutching at his head. It throbbed painfully, and the echoing cries of the children locked underneath reverberating in his mind did not help at all.

Nonetheless, he still acquired the first two lucky children, and he could _kill them now_. Because. Only through their deaths…_all_ of their deaths… and their absence from Kensdale would the town slowly be able to recover.

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A/N: The BAU enters in...most likely the fifth chapter, as they usually interfere with situations after at least two victims. For a general warning, the next chapter following this one would be exactly when that M rating starts. And, it doesn't lighten up after that...And, thanks for the reviews! :)

theangelsarecoming: Oh, you're too kind! Thank you! :)

tannerose5: ah...Thank you for telling me about that! I've fixed it now. But, I suppose that was a result of a sleep-deprived brain, though...What a horrible typo!


	3. Chapter 3: The First

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead. **

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Chapter 3: The First

John waited about ten more extra minutes before walking downstairs again just to be sure he wouldn't be met with those heart-wrenching sobs and screams. He had no intention of being persuaded into letting them _go_. No…the last thing he needed was a compassionate heart. _That_ would only slow down his mission.

And, besides. He was a _butcher_. Butchers killed _loads_ of animals and hacked apart their body daily and sold them for economic gain. So, why should he have any qualms about killing _kids?_

But, they were _human_.

They were so…_young_.

They had so much life to look _forward to_.

Shaking these remorseful thoughts out of his mind, John decided to try and block all pitiful thoughts towards these kids. He could not back out _now_, after acquiring them.

And, to look on the bright side, these children would be so beneficial to Ireland and Kensdale. Their deaths would mark a new era of recovery and restoration that this town desperately needed. Oh, what big roles they would play!

Composing himself, John picked himself up and marched downstairs once more with his head held high. He had a purpose to fulfill, and he couldn't let pity _sentiment_ stop him from killing these children.

He replaced the mask over his mouth and opened the door. Inside, Tommy lay slumped against his sister who had her arms wrapped around him. Both were unconscious, though.

That was good.

John ran towards them and awkwardly dragged their bodies as quickly as possible from the room and kicked the door shut. Continuing to drag them into the next room, he prayed that they wouldn't wake up.

He opened the door, allowing some cold to escape from the next room. Choice cuts of meat and large chunks of meat hung from hooks around the room, swinging when John accidentally stumbled into one.

Moving sister and brother towards the center of the room, John was grateful that despite the dragging, the O'Callaghan children remained unconscious still. Perhaps he had used too much chloroform. But, nonetheless, it made his hard task easier, as no struggling would occur.

No fighting back.

No defiance.

This was just an easy kill…an easy butchering…and it was something to be perfectly modest about.

So, the time has come. But the question is….who should he kill first?

John gazed at Anne and Tommy's unconscious bodies.

He chose Anne.

Anne was four years older than Tommy and therefore had lived more of her life than he had. When he would…_kill_ Anne…Tommy would at least have…five…ten more minutes of peaceful life?

_Then_ his life would be ended.

Making up his mind, John knelt down and pulled Anne's limp body towards him. Pulling out a knife, he shakily drew his knife and placed the tip of it lightly pressing her throat.

At the worst moment possible, he remembered his father's gruff voice.

_John…Raise your knife, press the tip in, and quickly draw a clean line….No! That's not it, you idiot! Can't you do anything right? No you messed it up again! You idiot!_

John pushed the terrible recollection from his mind and concentrated on his knife.

_Press the tip in_.

He pushed the tip in, and hesitantly gazed at Anne. Her body made no conscious response.

_Oh my God….He was really doing this…He was really going to kill this child. _

John's throat tightened, and his heart rate began to speed up as his adrenaline rushed through his veins.

…_And quickly draw a clean line._

John shut his eyes, prayed for the best, and brought his knife down, making a vertical cut. He hoped for the best, and for a while, he could not open his eyes, fearing what he would see.

Cracking an eye open, he looked downwards and saw a puddle of trickling blood pooling near his pants where he sat. Cautiously opening both eyes, he continued to look downwards and allowed his eyes to follow the path the blood made to….to the _body_.

He had _done _it.

He had killed his first child…the first sacrifice needed to progress towards a better society.

For a while, he jus stared at the blood trickling out of Anne's neck and made no move to get up and avoid the blood pooling around his clothes. After a few moments of taking in the realization of what he just did, John, without standing up, dragged himself towards little Tommy, who was still sound asleep, unconscious and unknowing of the bloody knife that was hovering over his neck.

Blinking hard and taking in a deep breath, John steadied his hand and brought the tip of the knife down on Tommy's neck, though _this_ time, he was less hesitant about it.

However, Tommy's body began moving, and panicking, John swiftly drew the blade down. He didn't close his eyes this time, and watched with grotesque fascination how his blade sunk deep into the boy's neck, ripped it open, and resurfaced after he pulled it out.

He killed another child.

Trembling, John just had to remain slumped on the floor to release the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in, and tried to calm his racing heart.

He…had just killed…._two children…_Two children….who were siblings, somebody's children, and _human_.

Those poor children! And, they didn't even have a chance to fight back and die honorably…John killed them while they slept on, unaware of the danger they were previously in.

What type of a person did that make him?

A murderer?

Perhaps.

A soulless monster?

Probably.

A hero?

Absolutely.

He had done it….He had _done it…_John had began the first steps of Kensdales' recovery. When no one else realized this town's problem and when no one else acted, John did, and he felt…an odd sense of pride despite a twinge of guilt he felt when he gazed upon his dirtied and bloodied hands.

John stayed there, sitting in silence reflecting on what he had just done while surrounded by hanging meat and two dead bodies. Exhaling slowly, he stood up and walked towards the sink and washed off his hands.

Hm. That actually was not too bad.

In the end, John realized, aren't humans just like animals lined up for slaughter? Both humans and animals could die in the same manner. Both are beneficial to the human race. Both, if conscious, would fight back the same way before succumbing to the knife.

Animals and Humans…

In the end, they are not so different.

What a sad realization…

After, John walked back to the limp bodies and picked up the remains of Anne. Her blood stained his shirt, but he didn't mind. He got animal blood on him all the time, so what was the difference?

Walking up the stairs and out of his butchery, John moved towards his truck. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he placed Anne's body into the back of the truck and laid a blanket from his trunk on top of her. Turning around to come back for Tommy, he…saw Mrs. O'Callaghan?

Oh no…

Tears streaked down her face as she frantically ran around calling her children's names. When she saw the blue ball they had been kicking earlier near the back of the butchery, her bloodshot eyes widened and she called to John.

"John! Oh dear God…John! Have you seen Anne and Tommy? I told them to come back _ages_ ago, but they haven't come home yet. Have you seen them? This is their ball…Were they here?" she said, picking up the ball.

Fighting to steady his increasingly racing heartbeat, John took several deep breaths before answering. "Mrs. O'Callaghan, I did see them earlier playing outside at lunch break. I came back inside after, and when I came back out again, they were gone. Why? Do you think they wandered off somewhere?"

Okay…That wasn't _too_ big of a lie.

Mrs. O'Callaghan threw her hands up in the air, dropping the ball. "I don't know! I DON'T KNOW! My children…oh…Is that…fresh_ blood_ on your shirt? John?"

John attempted to speak calmly. "Mrs. O'Callaghan, I am a _butcher_. This is normal, isn't it?"

She smoothed back her hair and rubbed her eyes. "…Of course…How silly of me…But, if you see them _anywhere_, please bring them home! This is not okay…"

John promised and waved good-bye as Mrs. O'Callaghan picked up her children's ball and walked off, still heart-wrenchingly calling her children's name.

That was close. Yes, the town did need to discover the bodies and see that they had two less mouths to feed, but now was not the time, and John still needed to move Tommy. He went back inside his butchery to get Tommy, and walked back outside with him.

John removed the blanket over Anne's body and placed Tommy next to her. Sighing, he placed the blanket once more on them, carefully covering sister and brother.

Then, he got into his truck after closing his butchery for the day, and drove off. He was going to dump the O'Callaghan kids now…People needed to see them and he supposed that their parents needed to have their bodies back.

Driving to an empty park where the O'Callaghans loved to play in, John looked around to make sure no one was watching. At this hour, a bit late in the day, no one was here, so for now, he was safe.

Quickly, he got out of his truck and tore the blanket off of the bodies. Swiftly, he picked up Anne, ran towards a large tree near the outskirts of the park, and laid her there before moving to get Tommy.

After placing him next to his sister, John couldn't help but stare at their motionless bodies.

People said that the dead look as if they were sleeping. If you looked at Anne's…and Tommy's bodies…that was the farthest thing away from the truth. Their bodies, true enough, lied on the dirty ground, motionless, but no. Never did they once cast the illusion of slumber. Drying blood caked their skin, and those large, gaping lacerations on their throats was too noticeable, contrasting, from their pale skin. Filth and a small, lingering smell of increasing decomposition lingered in the air. And, their bodies lied so still and so…_dead. _

That was it.

They were not _sleeping_.

They were _dead._

Because…How can the dead sleep with their eyes cracked open, staring mindlessly into nowhere? How can they depict innocent sleep with blood all over their bodies?

They. Were. Dead.

John quirked his lips at these thoughts, but then bent down, pulled a small card from his pocket, and placed it between them.

"_I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious number of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable state of the kingdom a very great additional grievance…"_

Previously, he had gotten out his old typewriter and typed up a portion of Swift's essay. He thought that people should know about the literary work that would save their town.

Pleased with the start of his work, John trudged back to his truck, mulling over the realization of what acts he had just committed.

He got into his truck, and just backed up a bit, withdrawing into the shade of a nearby tree. It was time for the children to be found.

Whipping out his phone, he dialed Mrs. Callaghan. In two rings, she picked up.

"Hello? John? Is that you? Have you found them yet?" her frantic voice betraying deep anxiety.

"No…but I'm driving now, and I'm just about to pass that park they used to go to. Would you like me to take a look there?" he calmly said.

"Oh, yes please! I'm near there, so perhaps I'll see you there? I think they should be there…They _love _that park…Thanks, John." She hung up.

Oh. She was close? John couldn't let her see him here! He drove away and circled around the park quite a few times before parking again, this time in a more noticeable parking spot.

Climbing out of his truck, he squinted in the distance to make sure that the children were still there. They were, but a hovering figure bent over them.

Oh. It was Mrs. O'Callaghan. She got here before him…

Cautiously, he walked towards her, and immediately, his ears were bombarded with saddening sounds of sobbing and crying. As he approached her, Mrs. O'Callaghan had knelt down upon the ground with tears running down her face. Hearing him approach, she called out to him. "John!...Oh, John…My _children_…My _babies_….NO…."

Putting on a mask of fake concern and sorrow, he contorted his face into a frown.

"Oh My God…That can't be them…They were only alive…at least three hours ago!" he said.

She sobbed. "I know…Who could have done such a thing."

John denied everything. "I don't know…We have to get them home now, though. They shouldn't stay out here any longer. Come on…You can deal with this at home….and somehow tell your husband…"

John denied this knowledge not only because he did not want to be caught, but also because he remembered what Swift's essay was titled.

_A Modest Proposal_.

So, naturally, John thought that he should be humble about these modest killings. Nobody should know yet that he had been the one to save them. Where's the modesty in revealing the hero? No…John was modest about the acts he had just committed and stayed silent.

But, Mrs. O'Callaghan, after a few more moments of succumbing to raw emotion, stood up and picked up Tommy, cradling him in her arms.

"No, John…" she tried to speak. "…I think it would be best to…to l-leave them here…until the police come…Yes. I want to find out who did this to them and _kill_ them, and so messing up this would interfere with their investigation. _Yes. _There is going to be an investigation."

In her hands, she held up the crumpled up card. Oh. She read it already. But, she should share the message with the other people, shouldn't she?

John cleared his throat. "I understand that this is…so incredibly hard, Mrs. O'Callaghan, but…if you want the police to investigate, then shouldn't you bring them that card, too? Was that from here?"

Mrs. O'Callghan slowly nodded and relaxed her grip on the card. "I suppose you're right…And, thank you….John….I suppose now I have to go tell my husband…_somehow_…And then go to the police."

"Take care of yourself, and…I am sorry." John said.

It was absolutely heartbreaking to see a mother react to seeing her children's dead bodies, but nonetheless, the bodies had been discovered, and so, here comes blissful change!

John cheerfully drove off, expecting to see a dramatic change with Kensdales' denizens.

However, as he passed by the streets, there simply was no noticeable change…Beggars still littered the streets, asking for money from people who couldn't afford to give any. Tired looking adults walked into markets holding large jars of change.

No…

_No_.

John watched and observed the passing scenes with growing frustration. No! What happened to Kensdales' salvation? Were two children not even enough to spark a new age of recovery?

Fine.

If two children were not enough to cause a change, then _more_ children would have to be needed.

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A/N: Unfortunately, this not the most horrific thing that will happen, so keep that in mind, all you tender-hearted and compassionate readers...But, thanks for the reviews! :) Oh! And this is a reminder that there's still time to vote for my first fic, _Inside the Minds: Jeremy Sayer_ in the Profiler's Choice CM Awards, so if you thoroughly and truly enjoyed it, then you should go vote for it!


	4. Chapter 4: Escalating Thoughts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

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Chapter 4: Escalating Thoughts

John continued to drive, frustrating mounting as he thought of other ways to lure children. How many did he have to _kill_ to make a difference? The gears in his mind churned and twisted as John drove home drawing up new schemes and machinations.

How many should he take this time?

Three?

Five?

…But, he had not even really snatched a child before. The young O'Callaghans sort of…. walked right into his path. Was this really the way to obtain the needed children? Were they _really_ just going to conveniently walk right into his path?

John decided to test that theory tomorrow after a good night's sleep

In the morning, John woke up, and pondered about those bloody faces he had seen in his dreams. They had not bothered him as much as yesterday. Were those bodies less horrifying when he could not physically see them? Or had his heart hardened enough to deflect those obstructive feelings of pity?

But, something along the road caught John's eye as he drove to work early in the morning, and he stopped his truck. Rolling down the window, he squinted and…could that truly be? Little Stephen Hayes was walking near the vibrantly green, grass fields on the road in his little pyjamas.

"Stephen? Is that you?" John called out.

Stephen turned and looked at who was calling his name. "Hello, Mr. Collins. Has mummy sent you to get me?"

"No. Why? Is she looking for you?" John asked.

"Oh. I just walked out of our house today because I couldn't sleep and I _wanted_ to go play at the park." Stephen asked, pointing in some direction. Oh, silly him. The park was in the opposite direction.

Here was _another_ child. Just…all alone, and his parents didn't even _know_ he was missing yet…What should he do about this?

Really without a plan in mind, John looked around to make sure no witnesses were present, ran out of his truck, and quickly picked up Stephen and threw him in the front seat of his truck. Getting in, he locked the doors and drove furiously to his butchery.

_He found another one._

Stephen, shocked by the sudden turn of events, immediately placed a small, shaking hand on the door handle.

John looked at him and only drove faster.

"You know…if you open that door at the speed we're going and jump out…you're probably going to _die_." John said bluntly.

Stephen quickly removed his hand from the doorknob. Gathering all the courage a small child could possibly have, he asked John a very simple question. "Where are we going?" he said, looking at John with frightened eyes. John glanced at him for a bit, then turned his eyes back on the road. "We're going somewhere that will make this easier."

"…What will be easier?" Stephen asked.

"Oh…just what I was planning to do to you." John replied. They had reached the butchery, and before Stephen had any time to protest, John had jumped out of the car and pulled him inside. Half the town of Kensdale was probably not awake yet, and so John didn't really have to worry about anyone seeing him.

Once inside the butchery, Stephen began panicking. "What…what will you do to me?" he asked.

John pulled him towards the concealed door to the basement. "I'm going to make you _so_ beneficial to we Irish people. God knows you children have burdened us enough…But, your mummy and daddy won't see you again, got it?"

Stephen widened his eyes and immediately started to resist John's efforts at dragging him down the stairs. He screamed and, with his small fists, pounded John's body. Unfortunately, those actions did _nothing_ to deter John from taking Stephen downwards.

Stumbling around the stairs, John pushed an increasingly hysterical Stephen to the little living room instead of the chloroform filled room, as he still needed to figure out what to do with this suddenly acquired child. Stephen immediately ran to a corner, where he rocked back and forth, obviously on the verge of breaking into tears. His blubbering and whimpering annoyed John. Until, he stopped and started yelling.

"SOMEONE IS GOING TO HEAR THIS! SOMEONE IS GOING TO HEAR ME SCREAM! AND THEY ARE GOING TO SAVE ME!" he screeched at the top of his lungs, his face bright red from producing that tremendous sound.

John winced. Nobody was going to find him here, but he…preferred the blubbering to this…this incessant noise.

"Oh, shut up and have a good cry, then!" John muttered at little Stephen.

Stephen, huddled up in his corner, did start to cry after quieting down, though he twisted his face up with anger, glaring at John despite his tears.

"When…w-when my da finds you, he's going to _kill_ you, you mean old man! And…A-and he's going to save me and you're going to be in so much trouble!" he sniveled.

John contemplated upon the child's words in silence. His dad was going to save him, then? That was highly unlikely, given the hidden place Stephen was stored in, but still…John felt a strong twinge of jealousy at this little boy. For the life of him, he could not remember a _single_ time while his bitter old father was still alive when he felt that his father ever cared for him.

Seriously.

Growing up, especially, John's father always tore him away from his studies and forced the art of butchery, as he said, on him. John had to split his time between schoolwork and this craft. But, his father never intended him to pursuit his dreams and do something great in the medical field. No. He had already made up his mind and thought that the Collins family's legacy of butchery was to be continued no matter what. John would have no time for such foolery and distasteful studies of medicine.

In the end, John's father got his wish.

While John was happily away in Dublin studying at a university with high hopes of pursuing a medical career, he had thought he had left Kensdale and his controlling father behind him.

How more could he have been wrong?

Jonathan Sr.'s ailing health prompted him to send his son a letter and call him back to Kensdale to look after the butchery and himself. John, content with his place in the city, could not bring himself to come back to that small town. No, he wanted to become a _doctor_ and change some lives…not rot away in a butchery selling meat to people…

Finally, though, after two months of nonstop letters, John unhappily packed up his belongings and left city life in order to travel back to his gruff father. Who was he more mad at? His father for interfering with and ruining his life? Or was he angry at himself for _allowing_ himself to be controlled by his father?

At this point, John didn't know, but nonetheless, John still came home and replaced his books with an knives and dead carcasses. There, in Kensdale, John sold meat to people while listening to his sickly father criticize him every day of his life until he died due to multiple tumors in his brain.

Was John free after his father's death?

No. He still stayed in Kensdale and stored away his medical pursuits. Money was tight now, and he could no longer afford to go to university. And, his father did not even stop plaguing his mind and his life even after he died.

His harsh words throughout childhood would plague John when he would remember them, and now, John himself developed a tumor. _Malignant_. Too big to remove. Five months to live. Damn genetics….his father had the same thing as well…

And so, when John was met with Stephen's harsh outburst and claim that his own father would save him, John was downright _jealous_. When he lived, his gruff father never gave a single thought towards his wellbeing. Hell, when he was seven years old, John's father allowed him to play with a meat grinder…

He never gave his approval.

He always criticized him.

He never gave a damn about his wellbeing either.

And, most importantly, he robbed him of a decent chance at life away from Kensdale.

But, these killings, John realized, were his second chance. _They_ offered him an opportunity to make a difference in the town he had grown to tolerate.

But, what should he do with Stephen?

He had him right there in the basement. Should he do something else to him? Simply killing the children didn't really seem to help the town quickly enough…No…there had to be some way that these children could be more beneficial to the town.

John pursed his lips and took out his worn reader. Flipping to Swift's essay, he slowly reread the essay, looking for a more distinct idea of what to do. Then, one passage hit his eye…

"…_A Child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day…"_

Ah. John remembered now…If killing wasn't good enough, then the children's _bodies_ themselves cold become useful to the town. Just think…Since he already established that killing animals and children were no different, then…could it be? Could eating animals and children be no different?

John himself never tried eating children, and right now, the idea was a bit repulsive itself….But, the essay! The Proposal! If it said to utilize children as another means of food, then it should be done! This essay had guided John so far, and so he should not forsake it now.

Oh, yes. He'll follow exactly what he says.

He glanced at Stephen sniveling in the corner. Hmm…Swift's essay gave the child _four_ days…So, little Stephen Hayes had exactly _four days_ to live before he would….what did it say again? Oh, right! After four days, John would butcher his body and make a reasonable dish out of him.

* * *

A/N: So, this was sort of a background chapter. Also, the BAU come in the next chapter! For the most part, I've figured out all the issues concerning jurisdiction...so...hopefully it doesn't seem_ too_ farfetched...


	5. Chapter 5: Enter BAU

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Enter BAU

The following day, Spencer Reid woke up and blinked drowsily, unaware that a little boy's life was going to meet an end a few days later. Sleepily pulling himself out of his bed, he raked his hand through his tousled hair and yawned. Ah…sleep. We're tired before and after we succumb to your blissful state…

Reid swiveled his body a bit, so that he faced the window. Pulling apart the curtains, he smiled as the light streamed in. Sure, when he worked his job, he witnessed unspeakable things, but that didn't mean _all_ life was bad.

A ringing phone interrupted his thoughts, and Reid reached over nightstand to pick it up.

"Hi. Mr. Reid?" a voice cautiously asked.

"Yes?" Reid replied, furrowing his brows together. How odd. Who else aside from work could be calling at this hour?

"This is the St. Dymphna Hospital in Las Vegas, Nevada. Unfortunately, your mother…Donna—" the voice began.

"_Diana_…" Reid corrected as panic began to curl around in his stomach. Oh no…What could possibly be wrong?

"…Sir, your mother has been admitted into our intensive care unit. She has suffered multiple burn injuries over her body, and our doctors are working to help her as quickly as they can."

Reid felt his mouth grow dry and his heart race. _No…_His mother? _His_ mother? That was impossible…._No…_For a while, he forgot about everything…He forgot about getting to work on time….He forgot about several cases the team were handling…And, he completely forgot that he was still on the phone, his hands clutching the hard plastic object as a voice jerked him back into reality.

"Sir?...Sir?" the voice asked, sounding a bit worried. "Are you still there?"

Reid exhaled slowly, still taking in this information. "Yes…Thank you for informing me of this…Is there any way I could talk to her right now? Is she stable right now?"

"I'm sorry. She's being prepped for surgery right now, so I guess you could try calling her back after? Or, you could come visit her soon?" the voice said.

"Oh. Okay…" Reid said. "Thank you again." He hung up.

And, for just a moment, he sat there on his bed and stared absentmindedly out his window…. Average people were hurrying along even this early hour of the day. Were their lives perfectly normal right now? Was anything bothering them? The sad reality of life, Reid realized, was that you could be content with life and satisfied with everything you had, and then, all of the sudden, one simple thing could take that _all away_.

His mother…Oh…She would be alright….right? She was tough…_So_ incredibly tough…What would he do without her? True…he had not seen her in a bit, seeing as she resided all the way in Nevada, but he had…he had written to her a lot.

She had to be okay.

Reid reassured himself that his mother would be all right, and resolved to ask Hotch for a couple of days off to go and visit her.

So, absent-mindedly, he got dressed, grabbed some coffee and a bit of breakfast, and walked to work. People ran past him, cars sped past him, and life busily moved around him, but Reid never noticed. The rest of the world passed by in blurs and colliding sounds, but all Reid could think of was…his _Mom_. Today, his mind, while it usually was occupied with complex thoughts and ingenious contemplations, was solely consumed with worry.

It…it was only burns...Okay, _terrible_ burns, but doctors could fix that…right?

When he finally arrived at the BAU's offices, he immediately tried to clear his mind of all the pressing matter and concentrate on work.

"Hey, kiddo!" Morgan called from his desk, swiveling his chair to face Reid. A smile spread across Reid's face, and he walked towards him.

"Hello, Morgan." Reid replied.

"So. How are you? And…did you ever finish that marathon of yours? What was it…Doctor Why?" Morgan asked.

"Doctor _Who_?" Reid corrected. "And, yes…for the most part. I'm…I'm all right. Did Hotch say we had a new case today?"

Morgan studied Reid's countenance carefully. Reid had seemed to be his normal self. But, right after he said how he was feeling, his gaze dropped towards the ground, and he tightened his grip on his satchel.

"Reid…Is everything okay?" Morgan asked.

"Everything's fine." Reid said just a bit to forcefully. He continued to look downwards, not meeting Morgan's glance.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Well, then…Just remember, pretty boy. I'm here _when_, not _if_ you want to talk. You got that?"

Reid paused and then nodded his head.

JJ then walked by, her head turned as she observed a scene across the room. "Hello, boys. Do you know what Strauss is talking to Hotch about?"

Sure enough, Hotch was across the room, talking to Strauss with his jaw clenched. Either he was receiving some terrible news, or…or was this the day the team would be getting a new team member?

Ever since Prentiss had left, Strauss had pressured the team to find a new recruit. She had been very careful to avoid the word…_replacement_ around them, but her message was implied. But, who could possibly replace Prentiss? Though the team had never formally discussed the matter, everyone agreed that she was simply an irreplaceable and invaluable team member.

Hotch finished talking to Strauss, paused, and then called to his team.

"Conference room. We've got…some sort of a case." He said, walking towards the room holding a pile of papers and folders.

JJ looked at them questioningly. Morgan simply shrugged and got up from his chair with a sigh.

"I'm sure we'll find out, but in the mean time, let's go see what some bastard's done this time…" he said.

Reid followed JJ and Morgan into the conference room where Garcia and Rossi were already seated.

"It's about time." Rossi began to say, raising his eyebrows at the rest of his team. "This new case is…_different_."

"Garcia, would you please show the team our…situation?" Hotch asked Garcia as he passed out several folders and papers.

"Anything for you, my dear Hotch!" she answered bubbly as she projected some images on the screen.

Reid expected to see a few dead bodies with their guts taking up the majority of the screen…or perhaps a few pictures of missing children or abducted people…What was projected on the screen was…different.

Replacing the usual onslaught of gore and violence on the screen were…pictures of…wait. Was that _Ireland?_ Reid recognized iconic photos of those luscious green hills and lakes…_lochs_…of the country.

JJ pursed her lips. "I don't quite follow. Is our unsub hunting his victims in these types of areas?"

Morgan furrowed his eyebrows and peered at the screen more intently. "Or…does the unsub hunt the victims in…these mountainous areas…and then drown them and dump them in the lake? Where are the bodies?"

It was sad to see that when given such beautiful panoramic scenes, the team would immediately begin to associate them with brutal acts.

Rossi chuckled. "Well, then. You're in for a surprise. Why don't you enlighten our team, Hotch?"

He nodded slowly. "Team, this is a more…unconventional case we've been assigned. Countries part of Interpol have all agreed that the security of smaller cities around the world would be a bit more…secure if more police officers and other law enforcement agents were trained more properly. These officers often do not have the training we do, as they probably never stepped foot inside a police academy. So, that's where we come in. We've been assigned a case out of the country to assist such people and strengthen their law enforcement."

"Okay…But how is one team of profilers going to make a difference in the amount of small town law enforcers?" Morgan asked.

"Different teams around the world are participating in this, and though there are, yes, too many law enforcement facilities to assist, the point of this task is to try and strengthen the enforcers in one small area, and they in turn will help the smaller areas surrounding them." Hotch replied.

The team was silent, taking in this new information until Rossi broke the silence.

"Doesn't anybody want to know where we're going?" Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Guys, I tried asking him earlier, but he just wouldn't tell!" Garcia said, poking Rossi. "Where are we going? Do I have to ask _again_, mister?"

"Ireland, guys." Rossi said, grinning despite the subject matter being discussed. "_Ireland_. That's where we're going. Apparently some unsub has already killed two children and we're going there to help some small, local police enforcement."

"Well…that's certainly _new._" JJ mused.

"But, hang on…" Morgan began. "What about jurisdiction restrictions?"

"Right. Basic jurisdiction laws still apply. We'll be verbally…coaching, to put it in a simple manner, the local law enforcement. They lead the investigation, but we'll be helping them realize what they need to do."

"We're taking a passive approach? We can't really…do anything? Are you okay with this?" Morgan disbelievingly asked.

"Hotch…a murderer has already killed two children, and we can't directly get involved? Are you sure it's a good thing?" JJ continued.

"And…what if we just cannot get through to them and guide them quickly enough and we lose more children?" Reid asked.

"Hopefully that won't be the case. We've been chosen to help, and we will give them that help. Oh, and there will be no need to bring extra ammunition. We can't exactly use them under normal circumstances in a foreign country. The unsub and the killings will be discussed in fuller detail in the plane ride." Hotch said, closing his files shut.

Morgan was still a bit disgruntled. "Well, let's go to Ireland and not touch anything or do anything, team."

Hotch shot him a look before answering. "Wheels up in thirty minutes."

So, apparently, the BAU was going to go to Ireland out of their US jurisdiction to…to teach some minor Irish detectives how to do their job better_ and_ capture a murderer…without _touching_ anything or getting directly involved?

_This_ should be interesting.

* * *

A/N: So, there you have it! The BAU have been moderately introduced to this case and the...weird circumstances...Yeah...That was my lazy excuse of trying to bypass normal jurisdiction restrictions and allow them to work in Ireland...Hopefully none of the team seemed out of character, as this was my first attempt in really writing them. But, thanks for the reviews! :) And, I leave you with a fun fact: St. Dympha is the patron saint of mental illnesses.


	6. Chapter 6: The Journey There

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 6: The Journey There

After Garcia followed them out to the jet, she hugged everyone good-bye. "Come back safe, my darlings!" She waved.

The team then boarded the jet, preparing themselves for the relatively long flight to Ireland. Rossi already headed over to the coffee maker and busied himself by preparing himself a cup.

"Does anyone else want some?" he raised the pot.

"I'll take some, Dave." Hotch nodded.

The team settled themselves on the seats of the jet, shifting aside the papers and information reports. This time, though, the team gazed at the photos taken at the crime scene. Sure enough, the bodies of the two young children lay sprawled on the dirt, their throats slashed and caked with dried blood.

JJ sucked in her breath. Sure, she would be used to such horrid sights by now, but as a mother…her heart broke for the children and the parents of the children, and she couldn't possibly imagine what it would have felt like if Henry took their place, lying dead on the dirt, blood pouring out of his throat.

"Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies…" JJ mused. "I hate it when what we see completely proves that false…"

Reid snapped his head up from his folders. "You're familiar with Edna St. Vincent Millay, JJ?"

"Yes, Spence. I _did_ take a literature course in college, too, you know…" she rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

"…And…Exactly what resolution were those photos taken in? They're not exactly the clearest pictures." Rossi said, squinting at the bodies while taking a contented sip of coffee.

"Seeing as they probably do not have high tech equipment, Garcia already enhanced the resolution for you." Hotch replied.

"Well then…What did the coroner's say? Were there any post-mortem wounds or noticeable sexual abuse?" Reid asked.

Hotch's stoic countenance broke for a moment as he quirked his lips, obviously unpleased about something. "Unfortunately, Kensdale, the town we'll be heading to, has no…official coroner's office, so there was no autopsy. We'll be profiling solely based on MO and what was found at the crime scene." Hotch turned to the next photo and held it up to the team.

"A card…with some text?" JJ observed. "Is that the unsub's signature? I mean, it's probably too soon to tell, but…leaving a card with words? What does it say?" She continued to squint at the pixelated picture.

"_I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious number of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable state of the kingdom a very great additional grievance…"_

Reid stared at the photo and scanned the words…. wait…_wait. _He had heard this…read this somewhere…._Remember!_ He thought to himself as he processed many different sources of possible authors in his mind.

"...Okay, I've got nothing. I've never seen this text before." Morgan sighed. "Anyone else? Reid?"

Reid's mind clicked, and he answered, satisfied that he finally remembered.

"It's Jonathan Swift." Reid said.

"Okay…care to explain it?" Rossi asked, gesturing for him to continue.

"This text came from Jonathan Swift's famous satirical essay titled _A Modest Proposal_. In it, as these short quote illustrates, Swift suggests several extreme propositions to somehow make the Irish children…more _beneficial_ to their poor parents and country…" Reid said in his usual rapid-fire manner.

"So…this text is probably the unsub's justification for his actions." Morgan remarked.

"Then…we're looking for an unsub who's killing off the children to…ease their deplorable poverty? Exactly how poor is Kensdale?" JJ mused.

"From what I was given, Kensdale is apparently bordering on complete economic poverty. Tourism is not very strong there, though with the wildlife population nearby, Kensdales' economy centers around butchery and other professions involving those animals." Hotch said.

"Butchery? That makes sense…" Rossi said. "The butchers could probably _see_ and _witness_ the poverty because people buy food from them. They know _who_ can't afford to pay for their meat...and who's just struggling in general."

Hotch nodded. "I wonder how many people they had to turn away every day because those people could not pay…"

"And…turning away these people would be…depressing to do every day. Maybe our unsub got tired of seeing the poor people suffer…and so he had to do something about it." JJ said.

"And, he's killed the children quickly…with just a slash to the neck. There was no noticeable torture or any other form of suffering inflicted on the children." Morgan said.

"Hemust be a butcher or someone with practice of butchery. Those slashes were neat…like he's done this before, though the cut on the girl is a bit wobbly near the right of her neck." Rossi added.

"He's hesitating…This was probably his first kill, and based on what we've gathered so far, even though he's a butcher and he has most likely butchered countless animals, he hesitated...like pity was stopping him for a moment." Reid said.

"But it didn't stop him for long. That gash on the other boy was clean and deep." Morgan said.

"So he kills the girl first, hesitating a bit, and then moves on to the boy. How does he keep them contained? There are no noticeable rope marks on their bodies…" JJ observed.

"We'll have to look at that ourselves when we arrive." Hotch said, nodding slowly.

"Okay. But, why this particular essay? This is a small town…who would be familiar with this text?" Morgan added.

"Probably someone with a higher education or a more sophisticated form of education. Kensdale is a small town, so the unsub would have had to somehow leave Kensdale in order to pursue this higher education…like college in the city." Reid remarked.

"That narrows the search down a bit. I'll have Garcia run a search for people who've left Kensdale to go receive a higher education." Hotch said.

The rest of the plane ride was filled with intervals of profiling, drawing possible conclusions, or sleeping, among other things. Reid, at one moment, stared out the window listlessly, propping open a book he had brought, but had not looked at for the past half hour.

Morgan slid into the chair opposite of him. "Reid…" he said, catching Reid's attention. Reid turned away from the window, looked back at his book, and replied to Morgan. "Yes?"

"You've been staring out that window for a good half hour now….What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

Reid paused, not really saying anything yet.

"Come on, pretty boy. Tell me. Come on…" Morgan continued.

Reid opened his mouth, and slowly, he began to speak. "It's my mom…she's been admitted to a hospital for…for multiple burn injuries."

Saying things out loud always helps, but then again, saying those things only makes the painful realization harder…and more real.

"Oh…I'm sorry, kiddo. How are you feeling? Do you know how she is?" Morgan asked.

"I'm…all right, I suppose, and she was being prepped for a medical procedure. But, what am I doing on a plane…to Ireland, when my mom's back all the way in Nevada?" Reid questioned himself.

Morgan sighed. "It's the nature of the job….But, I'm sure that your mom will make it, being a tough lady and all, but why don't you ask Hotch to give you some time off after we wrap this…assignment up quickly? I'm sure your mom will hold on until then."

Reid slowly nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Morgan."

"Anytime." He replied.

The rest of the plane ride passed by in silence, until finally the BAU landed in foreign soil and a completely different jurisdiction.

"Oh, look at the grass! It's so much greener than ours!" JJ said, gazing out of the window.

And sure enough, beautiful rolling hills of green grass greeted the BAU as they stepped off their jet and packed themselves into a car to Kensdale. The air was crisp and chilly and exquisitely vibrant scenery flashed before the team's eyes. A lazy breeze whistled by, running through the grass, causing a little wave to ripple.

And finally, the BAU reached Kensdale, noting its shabby looks and the tired faces of the people there. Stepping out of the car, the team unloaded and walked into the police station where a man dressed in a sheriff's uniform waved at them.

"Hello. Aaron…Aaron Hotchner?" a man called out, waving at them. "Are you the Americans that were sent here to apparently better our law enforcement?"

Hotch turned and looked at the man. "Yes. Hello. Are you…Sheriff Byrnes?"

The man nodded. "I understand that this prestigious FBI is here to somehow assist us and that you probably take no blarney [1] or cheek from us humble Irish policemen." He finished in a somewhat mocking tone.

Hotch looked at him intently. "We're here to assist you and help you with strengthening your law enforcement. Also, it seems you've had two children killed."

Sheriff Byrnes dropped his derision, and a dark look crossed over his face. "Yeah…those poor Callaghans…And, we've got one more lad missing. Stephen Hayes. Can you help us?"

"He's already taken another one? Well, that was a short cooling off period." Rossi remarked.

JJ threw him a look. "Of course we'll help, though you have to keep in mind that this isn't our jurisdiction, so what we _can _do is a bit limited, but we are here to provide assistance and consultations."

"Alright… Thanks for the help. Now, I don't think I know any of you lot back there." Sheriff Byrnes gestured to the rest of the team. The rest of the team introduced themselves while Reid awkwardly smiled and simply waved.

"Right…Now, I understand you need somewhere to set up?" the sheriff asked, leading them through an office filled with curious Irishmen, craning their heads to get a better glimpse of these Americans. He opened a door and ushered the BAU inside a cluttered room before walking out. It was good enough.

"Right. So, Morgan and Reid, go take a police officer with you to the crime scene and see what you can find." Hotch said. "Rossi, why don't you head to where the bodies are kept? I'll stay here and take a look at the facilities. JJ –" He was cut short by Sheriff Byrnes.

"We've got the Hayes here…You know….the family of the missing lad." Sheriff Byrnes said, jabbing his finger to some room as he walked in again.

JJ walked forward. "I'll go talk to them and see if they know anything." The rest of the team nodded. Turning, she walked towards the room, opened its door, and was greeted with a sight of an average grieving family.

Mrs. Hayes was slumped on a chair, sobbing openly into her hands. Her husband stood facing the window, staring apathetically outwards. Her other son just sat in a corner, picking at the carpet.

"Hello?" JJ said, knocking lightly on the door. Mrs. Hayes immediately stood up and came forward. "Oh my God! Are you the FBI Byrnes was telling us about? Please…Oh God…_Please _help us find our son…I don't want him to end up like…like Anne and Tommy Callaghan…_No._"

It took JJ a bit of time to process the woman's thick accent, but eventually she replied, attempting to soothe her. "Mrs. Hayes, we are doing everything in our power and jurisdiction to help you find your son back. But, I need to ask you a few questions…if that's okay."

She sniffed, attempted to compose herself, and turned to the rest of her family, who nodded grimly.

"Okay…Do you know what your son was doing before he was…taken?" JJ asked.

Mr. Hayes' face tightened with frustration, only to be replaced with…was that guilt?

"Stephen….likes to dander [2] around all by himself at various hours of the day. It isn't right for a seven year old to do that by himself, but…he just doesn't listen and no matter how many locks we place on the door, well…he knows how to unlock everyone. We just can't stop a curious seven year old." Mr. Hayes said, smiling weakly at the thought of his son.

"What my da is trying to say is that…Stephen left the house in the morning while we were still sleeping. We haven't seen him since, and we only reported him missing after he failed to come back for breakfast." Stephen's older brother said from his corner.

"And…people know about Stephen's wandering off problem?" JJ asked.

"Yes…Sometimes people would bring him back for us when they see him, or they'll keep an eye on him." Mrs. Hayes said, hugging her shoulders.

"I'm going to need a list of those names. Right now, we can't rule out any possibilities, and we're going to have to look at _everyone_ who has had contact with your son." JJ said, pushing some paper and a pen towards her.

Trembling, she took the pen and began to write some names, only to begin to cry and cease her writing. "Why…_why_ would anyone want to do this to him? What would they want with our little Stephen?" She promptly erupted into fits of sobbing.

"Mrs. Hayes…we believe that your son has been taken because he could be used as an instrument to alleviate the town's…economic situation." JJ chose her words carefully.

"I don't care if the person who took him though he could…_better_ us…Find him for us…_please_…_PLEASE..._" Mrs. Hayes sobbed. Mr. Hayes said nothing but merely tightened his grip on his wife's hand, his face wrinkling up in such bitter worry.

"Can we just have him back safely? Is that too much to ask?" Stephen's brother again spoke, rubbing his eyes.

"Please….just help us find him." Mr. Hayes concluded, taking his wife into his arms, allowing her to openly sob into his shoulder.

JJ thought about Henry and how devastated she would feel if he had been taken from her.

"We _will_." She solemnly said.

There was just no question about it.

The team would not _try_ to find Stephen Hayes.

The team _would_ find Stephen Hayes and return him to his grieving family.

* * *

A/N: I'm pretty sure that the characterization is still off and the chapter seems a bit rushed and disorganized, but in the next chapter, John is back. And it's the fourth day...

[1] Blarney: Nonsense

[2] Dander: A leisurely stroll

Thanks for the reviews! :)

theangelsarecoming: I know! I find it easier to write the unsubs then the actual team, which...probably says some terrible things about my mind. Oh dear.

tannerose5: Thanks! I know! I thought that since she's suffering from burn injuries, then she would be moved from the Bennington Sanitarium to a proper hospital.


	7. Chapter 7: The Fourth Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 7: The Fourth Day

The team met back in a bit to discuss what they had discovered.

"So, did you find any noticeable, external injuries on the Callaghans besides their slit necks?" JJ asked, looking up from some other reports, twirling a pen between her fingers.

Rossi strolled into the cramped room. "Kind of…At first glance, not really, but then that police officer that took me to the body said he smelled something funny. I investigated, and guess what I found?"

"…What?" JJ asked.

"_Chloroform_. It faintly reeked _chloroform_." Rossi simply stated. "That's how our unsub is containing the kids without any ropes or chains."

"Okay…but who would have such access to chloroform?" JJ mused.

"I already had Garcia run a list of possible people. She should be sending us a list of names shortly." Rossi finished.

JJ nodded. Then, Hotch briskly strode in as Morgan and Reid followed behind them.

"The place where the unsub dumped the body was a park." Morgan called out as he walked into the room.

"Geographically, there are only two parks located around Kensdale. So, that could mean that either the park was near to the unsub and it was convenient for him to drop the bodies there, or the location meant something to him." Reid said.

"And, the police officer reported that the bodies were placed nicely placed, just like we saw in the pictures. So, the unsub may feel bad for the children, as he's not really carelessly dumping their bodies somewhere. He put them in the shade and arranged their bodies neatly." Morgan continued.

"The police officers, you say? Did they seem to know what they were doing?" Hotch inquired.

"They've got it in them, but they just need a little push in the right direction and some… motivation. Reid and I asked them what they thought before we gave him our own conclusions." Morgan said.

"Good." Hotch nodded. "But, still, there's the question of Stephen Hayes and where he is right now."

The team fell silent.

"But, another pressing question is…what is our unsub doing right now? The Callaghan kids were taken and killed in one day. But, it's been _four _days….What is he doing with Stephen Hayes?" Reid asked.

OoOoOo

And on this fourth day, John promised to make little Stephen Hayes so much more beneficial to everyone.

For four days, he had kept the boy under his butchery and awkwardly gave him some forms of sustenance to ease his screeches about hunger. Now all he screamed and sobbed about was how everyone was going to _kill_ John when he found him.

John smiled wryly at his disruptive antics, and went to retrieve his knife from another room. It was time. When he returned to commit the deed, he did not expect Stephen to leap from his corner and attack him.

"No! Stop fighting! Stop resisting your fate! _You_ are meant to help us all…and _you_ are going to be so beneficial to Ireland." John bellowed.

"I DON'T WANT TO! I WANT TO GO HOME!" Stephen shrieked as he pummeled John with his fists and anything else he could find.

John, brandishing his knife, caused Stephen to draw back a bit, but the little boy's countenance still betrayed unmistakable anger.

"TAKE ME HOME." He screamed.

John, growing frustrated, roughly grabbed Stephen, and yelled harshly in his ear. "_You. Will. Help. Ireland."_

Stephen continued screaming about his reluctance to help Ireland and resumed bellowing about his wishes to come home. John, sick of the boy's insolent selfishness, simply did not spare him a painless death. His head was beginning to hurt again, and he needed that noise to stop. He raised his knife, and the distinctive sound of metal on flesh rang in the air.

The boy immediately slumped, his voice immediately cut short as the words died out of his throat after John drew his knife across his throat. Blood immediately spurted out, pouring all over John.

As the adrenaline continued to race through his veins, John gently placed Stephen's body on the floor.

This time, Stephen fought back. He never made it to the chloroform-filled room. John never expected to see such willful behavior from a small child. But, this kill had been…_different_…This time, Stephen was _awake_…and _conscious_…John remembered that while killing Anne and Tommy, he had made the painful realization that animals and humans were so…._alike_. And, unfortunately, he only validated that statement with Stephen's killing. The only difference between killing Stephen and other animals was who screamed more or struggled more before succumbing to the blade.

And Stephen had screamed.

And screamed.

And _screamed._

John didn't like a lot of what Stephen shrieked about, and his reluctance angered him. How could Stephen be so selfish, though? He didn't want to die at all! Okay. John understood that death was so ominous and filled with uncertainty, but really! To him, it was an _honor_ to die for such a noble cause. But, it didn't really matter anymore because Stephen was dead.

And, as John carried the limp, bleeding body back upstairs, he couldn't help but feel incredibly uncomfortable as the boy's face, still screwed up in rage, stared back accusingly at him.

John placed the body on a metallic table, shoving aside some knives before walking towards the front of his butchery to close up the shop for the day. The last thing he wanted was for people to see…. what he had done. John admitted that people would probably think that this was unethical, but…it was _necessary_. Did they not want to live well and happily again?

Pushing up his sleeves and throwing on an apron, John took out his knives, laid them across the table, and then realized that…he couldn't _possibly_ begin to properly butcher the carcass properly with Stephen's face staring back at him. It was just so…_accusing_, and the frozen expression on the boys' face seemed to scream at him. _Look at what you've done to me! Look at my throat! What have you done? Oh, God….LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE._

John looked away, and finally decided that he would do what he had always done to butcher animals easier.

He would simply chop off the head of the body.

That would solve all his problems.

Cringing, John took out his thicker knives, flipped Stephen's body upside down, raised his knife and swiftly brought it down.

_CRACK._

The sound of bones breaking echoed through the room, but the head still would not fall off, but now, a large gaping wound had appeared. Disgruntled, John raised the blade and hacked at the neck many more times until it…finally rolled off.

John picked the head up and pushed it to the side.

Then, he began to take off the little boy's clothes and tossed them to the side, making a mental note to himself to throw them away later. Finally….John began to do what he made his living on.

He raised his blade and expertly began to skin the poor carcass. Why, this wasn't so bad…It was similar to butchering perhaps a young calf. So, as time flew by, John continued to hack the body into pieces fit, hopefully, for consumption.

Wiping an arm across his sweaty brow, John dropped the blade, positively starving from all that work.

There was meat in front of him, and it looked exactly the same as animal meat, its red hue contrasting from the metal table from which it lay .

_Fresh meat_.

Should he?

Should he not?

But, the essay…

Let's see…Swift said that children's flesh, on the fourth day, would be good seasoned with some salt and pepper and boiled.

And so, before John could back out of this, he grabbed a hunk of meat, took it to the back of his butchery and began spicing it with whatever he had in the back of his butchery. When he was done, he placed it in a pot of boiling water, exactly like the essay had said.

Amidst the swirling steam, the meat…looked like it cooked the same way as animal flesh.

But, the only question was…would it _taste_ the same?

When it was done cooking, John drained the water and dumped the steaming piece of flesh into a plate and gathered some utensils to use.

John stared and stared at the plate of steaming meat before him. Was he…really going to eat this? But, Swift's essay said so…and it was going to save Kensdale!

Closing his eyes, John wrinkled up his face, stabbed the bits of meat with his fork, and cautiously took a bite.

_Edible_.

_It was edible…_

It was…_different_, but it was still an adequate…food source, and it was only slightly different than other types of meat. Chewing thoughtfully and most certainly awkwardly, John thought that…_yes_. Kensdale could definitely survive on this while their economy regenerated.

After finishing his…meal, John began to place the new hunks of meat in the glass display, shivering as the cold radiated from within.

Oh, look at how useful Stephen had become!

Before, the little boy would only consume the food that his parents saved for him, in the hopes that he would not live hungry.

_Now_, people would be eating _him_, and so less people would be starving.

Whistling aimlessly to himself, John wrapped up some extra meat for Moira and Seamus, his estranged family. He still didn't want them to starve despite their strained relations, and besides! Look at all this meat!

When John turned around and saw Stephen's head staring back at him once again, his whistling ceased. Not to mention now some of the little boy's bones, with all the flesh stripped off of them, lay beside the head.

…He needed to go and get rid of that.

John sighed, and threw on a coat.

Grabbing the head and piling all those bones on him, John took brought them along with the wrapped meat to his truck and placed them in his trunk, once again concealed by the blanket.

Driving slowly around town, he thought of the best possible places to put whatever was left of Stephen in order for the boy to get discovered.

Oh! The town fountain!

The town's fountain stood at the center of a well-populated area, so people were _bound_ to see him in the morning!

John drove his truck until he reached the fountain. Stepping out of his vehicle, John stumbled around in the dark until he reached his trunks and picked up his…cargo. Looking around to make sure no one was still around this late at night to catch him, John placed the head near the base of the fountain and laid the bones around it.

_There_.

Stephen needed to be returned to his parents, and he would surely be discovered by the morning.

Stephen's decapitated head still awkwardly stared up at him, and bending down, John closed Stephen's unblinking eyes.

Oh, but wait!

John remembered his newly printed card filled with text that he placed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he placed near the head, reflecting on the brilliant words and phrases that Swift wrote.

"…_the fore or hind quarter [of the child] will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day…"_

Sure, people might not get it at first, as he didn't leave the food near the head. But, they would soon get it after they noticed a new abundance of meat, wouldn't they? John stood up, pleased with his handiwork, and got back into his truck.

Now, it was time to go to his dear ex-wife's house and drop off the…meat for them. After arriving, John hopped out of his truck and grabbed the neatly wrapped flesh before heading off towards Moira's door.

John knocked on the door cautiously. After a few moments, Moira opened the door looking as pretty as the day he first realized he loved her and looking as strong and stubborn as the day she thrusted those damned divorce papers into his arms.

"John?" she whispered, looking around. "Why are you here?"

"Can I…Can I come in? I have something for you and Seamus. Is he home?" John asked cautiously.

Moira pursed her lips and paused before nodding and opening the door a bit more for John to come in.

"Seamus is not here right now. He's at one of his mate's house. What did you want to bring us?"

John was surprised she did not bring up the unpaid child support, though he eagerly thrust a wrapped parcel into her hands.

"What…is it?" she asked, gingerly holding it up warily, examining it.

"Has it really been that long?" John softly asked, his voice thick with longing and wistfulness. "You used to come and lounge around the butchery when we were married and help me wrap up the meat for customers. You don't….remember that exact wrapping? You helped me pick it out. _Green looks better than brown, John_. Remember? You said that."

Moira gently lowered her gaze. "I…I guess so." She said nothing of the matter, though an unmistakable wave of guilt surfaced on her countenance. She brushed it off and continued speaking. "But, it's okay. Seamus and I have enough to eat. Seamus brings home stuff you give him every Sunday, remember?"

"You don't….want it? But not everyone has a lot of meat to eat, you know." John furrowed his brows.

"No…_Thank you_, John." Moira said, pushing a few pieces of hair behind her hair. "It's just…that we're better off than so much more people here….You spoil us too much, John…and especially after what I've done to you…" Moira's voice trailed off.

Oh. Right.

Moira divorced him because she claimed that he spent too many long hours in his butchery, working from sunup until sundown every day of the week. Apparently, he was never there for her or Seamus at home. But, he was out working to provide for _them_. When Moira finally got tired of everything, she, stubborn as ever, refused to make any compromises, and firmly threw the divorce papers at him.

It was only out of respect for her wishes and her happiness that John, with a heavy heart, signed those papers.

And, after the divorce, Moira took_ everything_.

She took the house….and their car, though John didn't really mind that much because he loved his truck more…

But most importantly, she removed herself from his life and took _Seamus_ away.

Even though he was not his real, biological son, John still treated Seamus as if he were his own. He pushed him to do better at school and sometimes grudgingly attended some of Seamus' rugby matches.

They were once both major parts of his life. But now, they removed themselves from his life, and all he had was his little butchery and a death sentence hanging above his head, as his throbbing head reminded him every day.

He should have hated her and never even cared whether or not she ate well.

But, John didn't.

He had every right to hate her.

But, he still _cared_.

Love is a painfully beautiful emotion, isn't it?

Finally, John spoke, though his heart began to feel so many different emotions he had not felt in so long.

"…Don't do that to yourself. We…I guess we just didn't work out." He finished gravely, backing out towards the door, modestly attempting to be humble about the whole situation.

Moira slowly nodded. "I'm sorry. We've… never really talked in so long, haven't we? You see Seamus every week, but…we've never talked."

John didn't answer.

"Well, thanks for the meat, I guess." She said awkwardly.

John nodded. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Well…oh God. The Hayes are probably worrying so much about Stephen. Haven't you heard? It's such a shame…Imagine if Seamus went missing! But anyways, I thought that it would be good to cook them a dinner since they probably haven't thought much about eating, you know..with all that worrying?" Moira replied.

John stiffened at the mention of the Hayes and _Stephen_.

_Oh, God….Moira doesn't know she's holding a bit of Stephen right now…_

"Anyways, I was planning to cook something for them, but I didn't know what. Now that you've brought me this, I guess I'll use_ this meat _to _cook_ something for the Hayes to_ eat…" _Moira finished, to the amusement of John.

* * *

A/N: ...I worry about the state of my mind sometimes. I know the very beginning was quite rushed, as I probably had more to say about the Unsub.

theangelsarecoming: Thank you! You're too kind. :')


	8. Chapter 8: Discovery

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 8: Discovery

In the early morning hours of the following day, the town of Kensdale began to awake. _Wake up early to go home early! _seemed like the common thought between these Irish people. The sun shone, though hidden by a few clouds, and the vibrantly green grass waved as the wind danced through them.

One young man was walking to work on this morning, whistling as he strolled along, pulling his frayed coat and scarf around him, shivering in the morning cold.

Ah…the fountain! The man loved seeing the fountain when he walked to work everyday. He enjoyed seeing the water splash about and trickle down the ancient stone. But, wait…today something was different.

Frowning to himself, the man veered off his usual path and headed towards the fountain?

What was that…by the base of the fountain, resting on the stone?

Did someone leave some jacket or ball there?

Squinting, he continued onwards until his eyes could clearly see what was near the fountain's base.

….Was that…what he thought he was?

No way. Halloween was over…

Moving closer, the man felt his heart leap into his throat, and he stood there, paralyzed as his eyes took on that horrible scene. It was Stephen Hayes…but where was the rest of the body? The gruesome head lay propped up, but a growing smell of decomposition lingered in the air as the morning mildew nestled itself on the head.

This couldn't be…

_Oh my God…_

Recoiling in horror, the man felt bile rising in his throat, and finally, he managed to teeter off a few steps to the left before emptying the contents of his stomach.

_Oh my God…_

Looking once more at the grotesque scene, and pinching himself to make sure what he had seen was somehow….inhumanly _real_, the man turned, all thoughts of getting to work gone, and quickly ran to the police station as if the person who put the head and the bones there was chasing him himself.

OoOoOo

"So…you think our department will be okay?" Sheriff Byrnes asked Hotch as he sipped his morning coffee.

"Yes. I think if you continue to make improvements we suggest and patrol on much more strict guidelines, then you will have less problems. " Hotch tersely replied.

"And…that will prevent us from having any more bloody psychos like the one we have now?" Sheriff Byrnes raised his eyebrows.

"…Unfortunately, I'm afraid that those type of people pop up everywhere no matter how much police officers you send out." Hotch answered.

"I see. And, h—" Sheriff Byrnes began before diverting his attention to the front door of the police station.

A young man burst in, breathlessly panic with shock and revulsion written all over his face.

"Ben? Good God! What are you doing here all breathless like that?" Sheriff Byrnes rushed over to the panting man.

"I…I was on….my way…to work…you know…like every morning…" Ben wheezed.

"Come on…Speak, lad. Speak!" Sheriff Byrnes exclaimed.

"I…saw…I think I found…Stephen Hayes." Ben said.

"Oh, did you hear that, Agent Hotchner?" Sheriff Byrnes grinned, clapping Ben on the back. "We found him!"

Hotch surveyed Ben's face, noticing the unmistakable horror etched on the young man's face.

"I don't believe that's the case..." Hotch said, realizing what had happened. "Ben? Is that true?"

Ben nodded slowly, his eyes wide, shuddering at the memory of what he had witnessed.

"I found Stephen Hayes' _head_…and I think, Oh _God, _his _bones…_" Ben whispered.

Sheriff Byrnes countenance changed from jubilation to an enraged fury.

"Did you just say…head and bones? Oh, God. When I get my hands on that bloody bastard, I'm going to—" Sheriff Byrnes' face was growing increasingly red and red, and Hotch cut him off.

"We need to send a few men out there to….whatever's left of Stephen." Hotch said before turning to Ben. "Can you show them where you found the…body parts?"

Ben shivered, and proceeded to shake his head. "I don't believe I'm ever going back there while that…thing is still there. Aw, no. I can tell you where I found it, but I'm not going back…Somebody placed the…body parts near the base of the fountain in the center of Town Square."

OoOoOo

After several police officers were charged with the unsightly task of moving the head to the morgue, Hotch headed to the teams' cramped room.

"They've found Stephen Hayes' remains." Hotch announced.

"Remains?" Rossi asked. "Was his body not intact?"

"All that was found was his head and a few bones near a fountain in Central Square." Hotch said.

JJ sucked in her breath. "A head? That's new…And were there no cards left at the scene this time?"

"The police officers would bring back whatever the would find." Hotch answered.

"A fountain…..in Central Square? Right after a children's park?" Reid mused. "Guys…our unsub is purposely choosing well-populated areas."

"Like…he _wants _the bodies to be found." Morgan said.

"But, why this escalation? First, the kids only had their throats slit. Why this decapitation now?" Rossi pondered.

"…Maybe he left a justification in a card? Maybe the police will bring something back useful..." Morgan stated.

"And also...if only a head and some bones were found...what is our unsub doing with the rest of the body?" Reid asked.

Suddenly, a few knocks echoed through the room, and Sheriff Byrnes opened the door.

"The Hayes are here. You'd best want to tell them about….their son." Sheriff Byrnes poked his head in the room while his voice cracked with deep emotion.

"I'll go." JJ said.

It was part of the job to break the news to the family.

It never meant that it was an easy, painless job, though.

JJ sighed, collecting herself before speaking to the Hayes.

It was never easy.

When she entered the room, Mrs. Hayes stood up breathlessly.

"Did you…did you find him? Did you find Stephen?" Mrs. Hayes asked.

"Sit down, Mrs. Hayes…please." JJ began, waiting until all members of the Hayes family were in moderately comfortable positions.

"I am terribly sorry, but unfortunately, we found Stephen's remains today…" JJ said.

Silence fell.

"No…._No. NO! _YOU CAN'T! THAT CAN'T BE RIGHT!" Mrs. Hayes was on her feet again and screaming lividly at no one in particular.

"That's my _son. _HE CAN'T POSSIBLY BE DEAD! WHAT DO YOU MEAN? NO. NO!" she continued on before breaking down into a fit of tears.

Stephen's older brother put his head in his hands and never spoke.

"Come here, Peter. Da's got you." Mr. Hayes said, gently wrapping an arm around his now-only son.

_Peter_. So, that's what was Stephen's older brother's name. JJ was sorry she never asked before.

Mr. Hayes turned his attention to JJ.

"What….I want to know…is how the Americans sent loads of you silly _FBI _ agents to stop this…this idiot…but they couldn't stop him, and so my son is dead." Mr. Hayes accusingly said, his gaze turning steely.

"I am sorry, Mr. Hayes, but these things happen. And, we are still trying the best we possibly can to find the killer."

"Pah." Mr. Hayes spat, his eyes glaring. "These things…these things _happen_? My son's _dead_, and that's the best excuse you can give us?"

"Mr. Hayes, I understand that this is a terrible situation for you, but there's more." JJ said. She continued on after no one answered her. "Your son…We only found his head and a few of presumably his bones."

And, with that knowledge, fresh in their minds, the Hayes broke. New, fresh waves of agonizing pain and loss took a hold of every single one of them. It was one thing to find out that somebody you loved died, but it was _brutal_ for them to find out that all that was remaining was chopped up.

Mr. Hayes finally cried openly, hugging his remaining family members close to him as his wife and his son snuggled up against him for comfort, pain obviously tearing through all of their hearts.

It's never easy.

JJ paused, watching the completely desolate remaining members of the Hayes family before speaking. "…Would you like to see Stephen now?" JJ asked softly.

Mrs. Hayes was too busy sobbing into her husband's shoulder. Peter Hayes remained seated, staring into nowhere, struggling to keep his calm countenance from shattering. Mr. Hayes looked up, weeping openly.

"_Yes.._" he said, his answer short and full of anguish.

When they reached the mortuary, and the Hayes silently got out of the car. JJ walked them to the building, observing the pitifully dismal scene before her. Mr. Hayes wrapped one arm around his distraught wife and the other on his son, who struggled tirelessly on attempting to control his overwhelming emotions.

JJ handled business with the people at the counter, asking where Stephen was held, quietly speaking so that the Hayes would not be provoked any more. When finding out where the little boy's remains were held, JJ wordlessly lead the Hayes to it.

No family would ever be ready to see the body of their loved one, so mangled up and bloodied.

JJ stopped them for a moment before they reached the room.

"Keep in mind…" JJ started to say slowly and cautiously. "That your son's body –"

Mrs. Hayes, whose hysteria had released itself as distraught anger, cut her off.

"Just let me see my son! I don't care anymore! I NEED TO SEE HIM." She screamed as she pushed past JJ.

JJ lowered her gaze and moved aside for Mr. Hayes and Peter to follow. It would be painful to watch and hear this family when they saw the sight that lay ahead of them. Unfortunately, the BAU were not gods. JJ had promised to bring back Stephen. Her team succeeded in bringing back Stephen to his family, but he was _dead_ now.

Mrs. Hayes frantically opened the door to the room where Stephen's remains were held, leading the other Hayes inside.

The Hayes quietly walked inside the room and looked upon little Stephen's remains.

And, it was as if all of time had stopped itself.

The Hayes surveyed the scene, absolutely paralyzed. It was so…_surreal_. How could they expect to feel anything less than the weight of the world crushing down upon their shoulders? How could they not expect to feel their heart rate seemingly slow down? How could they not expect anything less than the most horrifying scene in their lives?

And, the illusion of denial cracked as time seamlessly resumed again.

_OH MY GOD…_

Mrs. Hayes, after that blissful moment of silence, shrieked until she fainted from pure shock and horror. Mr. Hayes, his face tightened throughout the whole event, quickly threw his arms underneath his wife in order to support her unconscious body.

And as for Peter? Stephen's older brother?

He fell to his knees, his hands reaching towards his head and started pulling at his hair, the suppressed stress and solemn grief finally expelling out of his body as he finally let out one loud, tortured yell until he was choked by gasping sobs.

It is absolutely terrible to the dead body of your child, laying motionless and unmistakably limp for all the world to see, but oh my _God_ is it damned _horrifying_ when all that's left of your child is his _head_.

Stephen Hayes.

Son.

Brother.

_Dead_.

….Isn't life ridiculous?

It's so funny…so pathetically _amusing…_One day, life could be great. Positively average. One day, you have all members of your family. One day, you do normal things together with your family. One day, you smile and laugh at the dinner table, ruefully grinning over something someone said.

But one day, you wake up, and someone's missing.

And on that horrid day, by some cruel twist of fate, you lose someone. And when that occurs, isn't life…unexpectedly stupid? How could it all change so fast?

Life is equivocal.

And life is cruel.

And life has no _mercy._

* * *

A/N: Perhaps the next chapter will take a bit of more time to write because there is a bit more complicated than the rest, so do keep in mind that the next update might come a few days late. And thank you for the reviews! :)


	9. Chapter 9: Profile

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**A/N: I apologize profusely for updating so late, but do keep in mind that this chapter is quite long, rambling, and perhaps maybe even a bit confusing towards the end. **

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 9: Profile

The next morning, John rushed to his butchery and eagerly opened up his store. Oh, this was a splendid day! He had new meat to share with everyone! See, Stephen? You were _so beneficial!_

John whistled as he threw on his apron and turned on the lights of his butchery. He couldn't wait to see those happy customers leave with more food.

After about a half an hour of waiting, a few customers trickled in.

"Good morning, John." Mr. Stevens said as he walked in the store. "Do you have anything good today? It's my little lad's birthday."

Oh, yes…This time, John would not dishearteningly turn away these people. "Yes. I have a few extra slabs of meat for the little one." He gestured at the new meat.

"Oh…that looks so tender! Would it cost us….extra?" Mr. Stevens asked.

"No. We have enough for everyone, and so it will not cost you any extra." John replied.

Mr. Stevens' countenances immediately softened in relief. "Thank you _so much_, John. _Thank you_. I'll take a pound or so of that meat."

And, everything was worth it, then.

John loved to see that smile and relief written all over Mr. Stevens' face. This was what Kensdale needed to look like all the time. Its citizens needed to be happier and not as stressed as they were now, worrying about money and food.

John picked the largest piece of…meat and wrapped it in bright green paper before handing it to Mr. Stevens. Mr. Stevens waved happily before exiting the butcher.

That day, in a few hours, more and more customers flooded in and left with a bit of extra meat and gratitude written among their faces, as John happily sold bits of Stephen to unsuspecting customers, pleased that perhaps everyone could eat a bit more.

At lunch break, though, he withdrew to the corner of his butchery and pulled out that worn English reader.

Ah, this essay.

John reread the work again and again, marveling at the ingenuity of it all. It was rather amusing. Kensdale's salvation would come from, more or less, a few pages of words. It really wasn't him. No, John was quite modest about it all. The real hero of this was Jonathan Swift himself. John only followed his words, and look how greatly it helped these Irish people already!

John scanned the lines once more. Then, he stopped at another line and thought of how he could pull this one off.

"_Infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year…"_

Huh.

Infant's flesh.

That too, could be useful?

How…interesting.

Really?

John couldn't help but feel pity for the babies. They were too young, and they had no way of defending themselves. And John, now, was to go take a few infants and…and also use them to feed Kensdale?

John hesitated just a bit, but then got out his car keys with resolve. No. He needed to push back all the sentiment and pity in him. Kensdale needed to be saved. And, if it took the lives of children and now…infants, then those lives would have to be taken.

John climbed into his truck and pondered where could he get some infants?

He couldn't exactly creep into everyone's house and take babies. That would be too time consuming, and he would probably get caught.

….But, oh!

Mrs. Hayes ran a day care center somewhere around here for children and infants.

If John was going to sneak around and snatch some babies, he might as well sneak around there, as there was a large nursery in one of the rooms.

John parked his truck near the center and cautiously moved towards the back of the day care center, praying that nobody would see him. He moved towards the windows and tried to find the nursery.

Was it this one?

No…That was the toddler's room….John moved on, peering into windows until he found the room he was looking for. He finally located the nursery and looked at the sleeping infants inside.

Ah! The window was open just a crack.

This was too easy.

John crept up to the window, making sure no one was around, and slowly lifted up the window. The infants had not stirred and nobody had seen him yet. Climbing through the window, John made sure to land softly on the brightly covered carpet. Brushing himself off, he moved towards the cribs.

Which infant should he choose to better Kensdale?

But then, voices drifted out from the door, and John froze, afraid that he'd been caught. He dove into a corner and cautiously peered out from the slightly open door.

Moira?

…What was she doing here?

John peered out anxiously and sure enough, Moira appeared, presenting Mrs. Hayes with something wrapped.

"Here. I cannot imagine what you must be going through right now, but…to save you some stress, I've cooked a few mincemeat pies for you and your family. John stopped by with some meat for us, and...I thought you could use it more than Seamus and me right now. If you need anything else…don't hesitate to ask, yeah?" John heard Moira say.

Oh…..

_Oh._

Well. It's funny how everything works out, isn't it?

The Hayes would now be benefitting off of their own son now.

Mrs. Hayes sniffled her thanks, and John watched Moira leave with some deep…feelings of longing? Was this longing?

Anyways, with wry amusement and pleasure, John watched carefully as Mrs. Hayes opened the parcel Moira gave her. Inside were quite a few small pies with a few plastic utensils. Dejectedly, as she was still struggling to mend that gaping hole in her life, Mrs. Hayes carefully opened one of the pies…and….began to _eat_ it.

Mrs. Hayes ate it.

…Look! Even Stephen's own mother has benefitted from him!

Oh, but the infant!

His purpose!

John remembered why he was sneaking around in this daycare after all, and quickly, he carefully grabbed the nearest sleeping infant next to him and leapt out of the window, cradling the sleeping child's head while still looking back to witness the last glimpses of Mrs. Hayes and her…meal.

He carefully placed the infant into the passenger seat of his truck, and prayed that the infant would not fall while the truck was in motion. John drove slowly, checking to make sure the infant had not fallen from its precarious seat.

When he reached his butchery, he quickly ran inside, hugging the stolen infant against his chest.

Nobody was in his shop right now, but lunch break was over, so he couldn't close the shop up. Eh. This was more important…

John rushed downstairs to his secret basement and plopped down on the soft armchair and stared down at the sleeping infant. Cradling the baby, John rocked his arms back and forth a tiny bit, marveling at the tiny body he was holding.

Aw. John never really raised a baby before. Seamus was a toddler when he first came into his life. If things were different, John would've loved to raise an infant of his own.

But, was this really right?

John had to ask himself that. Could he really kill this innocent, defenseless baby? Widening his eyes, John observed that tiny bundle slowly open its eyes and yawn. Blinking, the infant gazed at the foreign face hovering above.

_That was definitely not mummy. _

After a few more moments of taking in its foreign surroundings, he baby started to cry, overwhelmed by the coldness of the basement and the absence of familiar people.

No….Stop it!

_STOP._

John's head throbbed painfully, and as every second passed by, he grew more provoked by the incessant crying. He was not used to babies, as Seamus was six when he first met him.

_This needed to end._

John roughly shoved the baby onto the ground in the next room over, causing the infant to cry harder and harder, its red face strained with the tears and sobs. He clutched at his head and his ears, hoping that the noise would cease.

_THIS NEEDED TO STOP._

Out of final desperation, John quickly grabbed a knife…_any_ knife around him, and roughly sliced the neck of the baby.

_Ahh…._The noise stopped, and a certain solemn silence filled the air.

Oh….but the poor baby….The ghost of the baby's last cry still was printed on its contorted face, though blood rapidly began to seep everywhere.

There really was nothing else left to do, but….but to _butcher_ it now…

Swallowing audibly, John tilted the infant over on its stomach after carefully taking off its garments and tossing it in the trash, raised his knife, and aggressively brought it down on the neck. _This time_, the head rolled off neatly, and John, after picking it up, placed it on another metal table away from the remaining body.

Pushing away remorse, John swiftly began to butcher the body, listening to the familiar sounds of his knife tearing into and cleanly hacking at flesh. After finishing, John stared at the meat he had produced.

Whoa. This meat looked so _tender_. Kensdale deserved the best. So, John would present its citizens with the best.

John piled up the new meat in his cold, glass display along with the other meat. He could probably get rid of the infant's head later.

The front door of his butchery was pushed open, and Mr. Grisham walked in. "Hello, John. What do you have today?"

"Hello. I've got some quality cuts for a moderate price. Would you like some?" John asked, gesturing at the freshly butchered meat.

"Wait….Quality cuts I can afford? Yes, _please_." Mr. Grisham chuckled.

John cheerfully smiled and began to open the glass display to pull out some of the fresh meat.

"Oh, and did you hear, John? Some American FBI agents are _here_…in little Kensdale." Mr. Grisham casually stated, leaning against the counter.

Oh….Oh God.

"The FBI, you say?" John said as he fought to keep his voice level.

"Oh, yeah. They're investigating the murders of the children around here and helping to straighten out our police. God knows we could use some help." Mr. Grisham said.

"Ah. Please excuse me for a second. I've just run out of paper to wrap your meat up. Would you mind waiting a bit? I'll just have to fetch some from the back." John said.

Nodding after Mr. Grisham shook his head, John calmly walked to the back of his butchery. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. He had a baby's _head_ for God's sake. If these American FBI happened to stroll by while investigating, they wouldn't understand at all.

John needed to get rid of it.

Forget respect to the infant and how he would normally dump the remaining body parts. He couldn't be _caught_. What were….what were some things he could use around here to help him?

Knives?

_No._

Paper?

_No._

Scissors?

_NO._

There had to be _something_ around here that John could use effectively.

Tape?

…Wait…that was _different_. How could he use tape?

Quickly, John began to formulate a plan. He grabbed the tape and the infant's head and ran out the back towards the parking lot. Mr. Grisham was still patiently waiting inside. Perfect. John remembered which car Mr. Grisham drove up in and crouched down and looked at the very bottom of the car.

Ripping some tape open, John carefully pressed the tiny head on the underside of the car and lightly taped it to the metal compartments. It took quite a bit of tape for it to stick, but in the end the head was definitely stuck to the cold bits of metal.

And the best part?

When Mr. Grisham would drive off, the light tape would probably fall off, and the head would come tumbling down.

Pleased with his quick thinking, John ducked back into his butchery and rapidly wrapped up Mr. Grisham's meat.

"Thank you for waiting. Here you go." John smiled as he placed the wrapped parcel in the other man's hand.

"Thank you." Mr. Grisham said, waving as he left.

John watched as the man go into his car and drove off.

Excellent.

He had just gotten rid of the damning piece of evidence, and his only regret was that he had not gotten to place the head in a nice place for everyone to see.

But, he just couldn't get caught _now_.

Kensdale still needed _loads_ of saving…

OoOoOo

"So…leaving cards _is_ his sort of his….signature." JJ mused as the team looked at the card left at the crime scene.

"…_the fore or hind quarter [of the child] will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day…."_ Rossi read aloud.

"…Well. Now we know why Stephen Hayes was kept for four days." Hotch grimly stated.

"But, wait…I think I know what he did with the rest of Stephen Hayes…" Reid said, already disturbed with his realization. "Just look at the words that he left….He's…either eating Stephen or selling Stephen's flesh to unsuspecting customers."

JJ wrinkled her nose. "Well…that's unpleasant, but it does make sense…"

Sheriff Byrnes solemnly walked in the room and announced some grave news. "Agents….I am afraid that another…body part as been found. This time, it was an…_infant._"

"_Damnit…._" Morgan muttered.

The news of yet another death weighed in heavily on the team. The team should have been used to death by now. It was just a part of this job, but yet…the news of such a _young_ death always hit the team just a bit harder. Life is such a fragile thing…and every single damned soul reeks of mortality.

We all have to go one day.

Some go forcibly through unwanted violence.

Others…like this innocent infant…go too young.

_Much too young…_

Sheriff Byrnes cleared his throat. "…Are you already used to this? How many horrid things did you have to….witness so that you could react almost _emotionlessly_ when I just told you that a _baby_ has been brutally _murdered_ and _decapitated."_

"It's part of the job, Sheriff. Yes, it's absolutely unpleasant, but after a while, the extensive depths of the brutality of humanity doesn't really shock us much any more." Rossi answered.

"Now…The baby…You said it's been decapitated? The unsub only left the head again?" Hotch quickly attempted to stay on the subject before the Sheriff could respond.

"Ah, yes. All we found was a head, but it's been dumped in an odd way. What was that term you used? MA? Oh..._MO_...Yes. It's changed. Last time, like you said, the unsub neatly dumped the bodies in public areas so that people could see them. But, this time…we found it on the side of some road with loose tape around it's head." Sheriff Byrnes said, rubbing his forehead, the stress evident upon his face.

Reid cleared his throat. "So…tape? Why the sudden change in his method of dumping the bodies?"

"It doesn't make sense…" Rossi said thoughtfully. "Everything suggested that he would have placed the body in some populated area…not dumped by the side of the road with some tape. Could he have been interrupted or almost got caught? If he did, then…he could have desperately ditched the head or whatever was left of it using any means."

"Hmm….Maybe to the unsub, his mission is more important than the bodies, and if he _was_ interrupted, then he wouldn't do anything to risk jeopardizing his mission." JJ said.

"It sounds like we should probably deliver the profile now…you know, before any more kids' heads turn up and more people unknowingly eat their own kind?" Morgan stated, to the agreement of the rest of the team.

Moments later, the team stood in front of the assembled police force.

"So, tell us, agents." Sheriff Byrnes began. "Exactly what type of a bastard are we looking for?"

"We're looking for a white middle-aged man who is most likely working as a butcher, judging by the skill and precision of the cuts on the bodies that he has left." Rossi began.

"He's organized, as these kills were most likely thoroughly planned. He drugged the first two children first with chloroform, not by knocking them out with whatever object he could find, and he seems to most likely have an average or above average intelligence, judging by his ability to abduct, kill, and dump the bodies without getting caught." Hotch continued.

"He believes that he is on a mission to save Kensdale from total economic poverty, and the root of that poverty is the children. So, by abducting and killing off the children, he believes that the town can slowly recover and regenerate." Morgan stated.

"We believe that because this unsub is holding an unfulfilling job menial to his standards such as working as a butcher, these killings give him some sort of a new...purpose and meaning." JJ said.

"And, our unsub is basing his kills off the work of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal, a satirical essay that offers various propositions on different methods of alleviating Ireland's poverty through using the children. He leaves cards with text from this essay and if he has been following through with the essay, then...we expect that the unsub has been using the children as...as a source of _food_. He sells them in his butchery in order to alleviate some of Kensdale's slight hunger problem." Reid said, looking a bit downwards as the angered and disgusted policemen turned their eyes upon him as the true weight of his words hit them.

"…Finally, with this deadly sense of purpose...the unsub may stop at nothing until perhaps all the children are dead. And because he is so devoted to his mission, if interrupted, he would most likely lash out, and when he does, it will end only in the death of others and even his _own_ death." Hotch finished.

The whole police department remained silent, slowly taking in exactly what they had just heard.

"Well...If only our boys could figure that out about criminals, then you wouldn't be here, agents. Now, you heard them! Let's go find that blasted bastard." Sheriff Byrnes wryly stated.

OoOoOo

"Guys, Garcia sent us a narrowed list of names. It seems kind of short, so what if we just asked them to come to the police station for a quick chat? It could also be helpful to these officers, too. We could hold an interrogation, which they could observe, take part in, hopefully, and learn from." Rossi announced, holding up a few freshly printed papers.

"…But, what if the unsub thinks that his cover's been blown and he makes a run for it?" JJ asked.

"Then, we'll know he's our unsub, and the police will pursuit. How far could you get in this town? The nearest town over was nearly fifty miles away." Hotch replied.

"So, divide and conquer? Are there few enough names to do that?" Morgan asked.

Rossi peered at the list and shrugged. "I guess. And, we'll have officers helping, too."

"I'll have the officers call in the people on the list." Hotch said, frowning slightly at Reid, who was awfully quiet.

Hotch dismissed his team and then turned to the list of names he clutched in his hands:

_John Smith_

_Hamish Holmes_

_John Collins_

_Farin Unwahr_

_Marley Stevens_

_Ben Freeman_

_Jack Barrowman_

Someone on this list was the unsub.

So now, it was time to find that unsub.

OoOoOo

Reid sat in the cramped office, thinking about his mother once more. He had already called the hospital several times in order to ask about her condition, but all the nurses would say is that his mother was in surgery.

Surgery?

Would it really take that long?

Reid couldn't help but feel so _guilty_.

His mother needed him, and there would always be that horrid possibility that she might not _survive_.

And he was a continent away.

What did that say about _him?_

Hotch briskly strode in, shaking Reid from his thoughts. He observed Reid and then furrowed his eyebrows a bit. "Reid…Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Reid looked up. "Oh, no…It's fine. Have…have the people come in yet?" He attempted to change the subject.

Hotch studied him for a little while before answering. "Yes. Interrogations are starting now. But, I need you to be completely focused on this. We can't afford to have any more bodies turning up."

Reid nodded, grateful that Hotch hadn't pressed the matter. He didn't really want to talk about his situation much longer. Children were dying. Shouldn't he focus on that right at the moment?

"Okay. So, we have a Mr. Farin Unwahr for you and an assigned police officer in another room." Hotch continued slowly.

Reid acknowledged the fact with another nod and headed out of the door. A policeman was waiting for him out in the hall.

"Ah! Agent Reid! Do you think the man inside the room is our killer?" He gestured to a closed door.

Reid shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we? Ready?" He asked the police officer who nodded.

Reid pushed open the door and there sat, sure enough, a middle-aged man twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"Hello, Mr… Unwahr. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Reid asked.

"Hallo. Please…Call me Farin. It makes everything less formal, ja?" Farin managed to say. Reid frowned as he heard the man speak in a slight, but noticeably different accent.

"…Farin. Where are you from?" Reid asked.

There was no way he was Irish.

"Ah! I was born in Germany, but after my parents divorced, my mother took me here for a new start in Kensdale. You recognize my accent?" Farin said.

"Yes. Well, that's it, then. You're free to go." Reid said. Farin smiled and reached over to shake his hand before leaving. The police officer who had observed the whole situation with an agape mouth and wide eyes, speechless at what had just occurred.

"What? Why did you let him go?" The policeman said. "I thought he was a possible suspect. What if he was the killer, and we just let him go after….after _two blasted minutes_ of interrogation?"

"Okay…Well, this man clearly did not fit the profile that we fabricated, as while yes, this man had some education out of Kensdale, he's, well…_German._ Why would a German care about the state of a small Irish town? No…Whoever we're looking for has to be completely Irish with some sort of sense of patriotism." Reid answered.

"I…I see. I hope you're sure." The police officer stammered.

"We can only hope that the others are having better luck with this." Reid responded to the flabbergasted police officer.

OoOoOo

"So…John Smith?" Morgan asked as he slowly strode around the makeshift interrogation room. A nervous police officer stood huddled in the back tightly holding a notepad and a pen, obviously taking notes.

The subject in question reclined lazily on the chair, leaning back comfortably and gazed up into Morgan's face. "Yeees?" he drawled.

"John Smith, do you understand why you're here today?" Morgan asked.

"Hm…Yes." John Smith retorted, giving off an air of unconcern. "In fact, I find this all rather funny."

"This is _not_ a laughing matter." Morgan said, slamming his hand on the makeshift desk.

John Smith chuckled a bit and looked up at Morgan with mild contempt lingering in his face, unfazed by Morgan's show of aggression. "Really? _Really?_ The Americans sent out a bunch of hotheaded FBI agents here in order to stop this _lowly crime?_ Don't they have anything better to do?"

"This is _not_ a joke. How can you believe this…this crime is anything but "lowly" when so many have been affected?" Morgan asked. The police officer shrank back into his corner as he watched the exchange between the two.

"Oh, whatever. Now, ask me the question, agent. You know, that clichéd question all you FBI and police officers ask. Where was I when the crime happened?" John Smith lazily waved Morgan off.

Morgan glared at John Smith before asking him that question. "…Where…were you, since you know just what crime I am talking about?"

"Working. I have footage from my security cameras if you need." John Smith said unconcernedly waving back the question.

"He's right." The police officer said, lowering his notepad and pen timidly. "He came prepared, Agent Morgan. Sheriff Byrnes has the tapes."

"So. Can I go now? I have to get back to work, and you have nothing to hold me here." John Smith swung his feet from the chair and stood up, brushing off his clothes.

"No. You're going to stay here, and I'm—" Morgan retorted until the timid police officer nervously cut in.

"We have to let him go, Agent Morgan." The police officer said, stammering a bit. "We have n-no evidence to hold him."

Cursing to himself, Morgan yanked open the door to a room, and ushered a triumphant and sneering John Smith out.

"…Did we just let our killer go?" Morgan asked the police officer.

"I…I don't know, agent. Perhaps we'll find some more evidence, but his alibi was solid and checked out." The police officer said with some uncertainty.

OoOoOo

Meanwhile, John _Collins_ made his way to the police station, attempting to control his emotions and his heart rate. The police said they had a few questions for him. Not showing up would make him look guilty, so here he was…

So, here he was, seated nervously in some crowded room as a police officer stood in the corner of a room. The door opened with a creak, and a man radiating authority entered the room.

"John Collins?" The man asked.

John fought to keep his voice level. "…Yes?"

"I'm Agent Hotchner, and I have a few questions for you."

Agent Hotchner took a seat across from John and lifted a few papers out from a folder before looking at them.

"So…you're aware of the situation Kensdale is in?" Agent Hotchner asked, his cold gaze moving upwards to John.

"Of course. Who hasn't?" John replied, consciously forcing his feet to stop shaking. "Is there a reason why I have been called in?"

"Yes. We have a few questions that we'd like answers to." Agent Hotchner stoically stated.

"Anything to help. Those poor children…" John replied, though his concern was genuine.

Well, it was true. Yes, the children needed to go, but of course it was a sad event. John admitted that, and he wished he could have thought of a better alternative to killing children. But, it was necessary, and Swift published this particular method ages ago.

"Right. So, the standard question. Where were you yesterday around twelve to one in the afternoon?" Agent Hotchner asked.

"Working. At my butchery." John casually said, fighting to keep his heart rate down and the panic from showing in his eyes.

Agent Hotchner looked at him intently before continuing. "Okay…We have several witnesses that confirm that. Mr... Grisham says that you've been at your shop during the day." he continued.

"Yes. I helped him select a few good cuts of meat." John said.

Well, that technically wasn't a lie.

"And, you've traveled out of Kensdale before? For college? What did you study?" Agent Hotchner questioned.

"Yes, sir. I went to Dublin for college and enrolled in their pre-med course. I wanted to become a doctor, but it's funny how things work out, isn't it?" John threw back a forcibly calm response.

Hotch nodded slowly, flipping through information about John that Garcia sent to him. Medicine? He'd have to minor in Literature or have a deep passion for literature in order to be knowledgeable of _A Modest Proposal._

"So did you really want to pursue medicine whole-heartedly? Or did you minor in other subjects?" Agent Hotchner asked.

"Oh, yes. I actually entered college thinking I was going to be a doctor…I wanted to heal the sick. It's a much more fulfilling job than working in a butchery, yeah? So, I didn't minor in anything else." John replied.

Hotch was silent. A failed student who wished to become a doctor with the sole purpose of healing people with no other intention than that? No way…Literature would not be important to them. This was not the unsub?

"May I…May I go now? Is there anything else you want to ask?" John asked.

"…Yes. You can go now. We'll contact you if we need anything else." Agent Hotchner said after pausing. Besides. Morgan mentioned that he had found a possible suspect, but he was forced to let them go…

John questioned the capabilities of these simple Americans, but didn't mind at all when he walked out of the police station, _free to go_...


	10. Chapter 10: Only Children

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**A/N: So...This chapter is a bit different. It strays a bit off topic, but I wanted to write from a different perspective and not just John or the BAU for a bit and give their insight on the situation. Hopefully it won't be too confusing?**

* * *

Chapter 10: Only Children:

"What? Are you sure?" Mrs. Phillips asked looking at her young children.

"Oh, yes please, Mum!" James Phillips pleaded.

"Mummy! Please let us go to the forest! Daddy said that the rangers there would show us some animals!" Jenny Phillips entreated.

Mrs. Phillips stared at her children. She had heard about the tragedies that had been occurring, and the last thing she wanted was both of her children mutilated and…_dead_. Pushing back some of her blonde hair away from her face with a sigh, Mrs. Phillips turned to her children with a reply.

"Sorry, loves. Mummy can't let you go right now okay? Besides. Daddy's working right now with the other rangers, and so he wouldn't be able to show you around the forest himself." Mrs. Phillips said, watching Jenny's countenance fall, quite crestfallen.

James, however, her older child, continued to plead.

"Oh, come on, Mum! Michael said he would come with us, too. He wants to see the forest, too." James said earnestly.

"James…Michael is only a year older than you. Why would that make a difference?" Mrs. Phillips wryly asked, amusement creeping upon her quirked lips.

"Please, Mummy? Daddy said one of his ranger friends could take us around. And there are animals!" Jenny began to beg her mother once more, inspired by her brother's urging.

The children continued to plead again and again, their nonstop tirade of begging beginning to get to their mother. Mrs. Phillips sighed, rubbed her forehead, and responded. "Oh, God. You two will never give me any peace and quiet, will you? Fine…Have Daddy call me when you get there, all right? And, no talking to strangers. Absolutely _no talking to strangers._ Do not stop in the middle of the street and always keep walking. Never stop until you're there. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mummy!" Jenny ran to hug her mother.

"Aw, yes! Thanks, Mum!" James grinned, already grabbing his coat and bringing his sister's coat towards her.

Mrs. Phillips smiled despite her apprehension. "Please, children. I want you to be safe."

"Got it. Love you, Mum! I'll see you in a few." James said, stopping to kiss his mother before running out the door.

"Good bye, Mummy! I love you!" Jenny smiled, following her older brother out the door with one hand inside her jacket and the other struggling to find the other sleeve.

_Kids will be kids…_Mrs. Phillips thought as she waved from the doorway, shuddering a bit from the cold, before returning inside to phone her husband that their children were visiting him.

Outside, James stopped to wait for his sister who struggled to catch up with him in her large coat.

"Ready, Jenny?" James asked, taking his sister's hand in his. "Michael said he would meet us near here."

"Yes! Can't you wait to see the animals?" Jenny happily said, swinging their entwined hands around.

"I suppose. But, Dad said the trees there are supposed to be absolutely ginormous!" James replied, raising his free hand to emphasize his point.

"Oh, wait. James! There's Michael. Hello Michael!" Jenny yelled the greeting across the street.

Michael waved and crossed the street over to them.

"Hello, Michael. Ready to go now? My Dad's waiting at the forest." James said, clapping his friend on the back.

"Hello there, James. Yeah. Let's head over there right now, yeah?" Michael punched his friend lightly on the arm as a grin spread across his face before pausing to tousle Jenny's hair before returning a greeting to her.

"Michael! Now that you're here, can we skip together?" Jenny asked, her cheeks turning a bit rosy from the biting cold.

"Sure. Maybe we'll get there faster, too." Michael shrugged and grabbed Jenny's free hand.

"Oh, Jenny." James groaned. "Really? You always make us do this every time."

"Come on, James! Michael said we could!" Jenny pouted.

James grumbled but agreed.

And so, the trio, with their clasped hands, skipped down the road as the wind whipped through their hair, laughing despite the tense situation in the town.

"Wait. James….Michael…C-can… we stop? I'm tired now." Jenny said after some time had passed.

The older boys let go of Jenny's hands and allowed her to rest for a bit.

"Come on, Jenny. Mum said we can't stop on the street for a bit. We have to go to Dad quickly." James said, looking around.

"Why?" Michael asked curiously.

"I..I don't know…But, she sounded really upset about something?" James mused before taking his sister's hand again and pulling her along.

"Hm….Well, my older brother said something was happening in the town, but I don't know if I believe it. Do you want to here about it?" Michael asked, walking alongside the siblings.

The Phillips children nodded earnestly.

"Apparently….wait. Jenny, this is a bit gruesome. Are you sure you want to here about it?" Michael asked.

"I'm big enough! Tell me!" Jenny nodded.

"Oh all right…So, my brother tells me that our parents have been panicking about some weird person." Michael began before lowering his voice for dramatic effect. "Remember those missing children the town's been talking about? Yeah. My brother told me that that man took those children…_killed them_….and….and _ate_ them. Isn't it gruesome, yeah?"

"God, Michael. Are you sure? That's…that's got to be false. Who would do such a thing?" James asked lightheartedly, though his face grew ashen with unspoken apprehension.

Jenny's previously joyful smile slid from her face, and she grabbed onto her brother's arm tighter. "James? Michael? I want to go now. Can we go to Dad's now and hurry? Let's go."

"Oh, you've heard about that man, too?" a voice called out to the trio from behind them.

Slowly, the children turned around, and a middle-aged man observed with a steely gaze.

Jenny immediately drew back and hid behind James who was too busy being frozen with horror. Michael, however, pretended to act unafraid, seeing as he was a bit older then all of them, though his fright was evident in his clenched fists and his trembling mouth.

"Excuse me?" Michael said, his voice wavering a bit with fear.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. You've got the story wrong, though…you know….that one about the man who ate children?" the man said, casually dropping trash and…what looked like children's clothes in a large trash can outside a butchery.

"W-what do you mean Michael got the story wrong?" James asked.

"Oh, well, don't you want to know the real story? Your version is a bit wrong. Don't worry the flesh-eating man is not out here. If you have time, you can come inside my butchery and I can tell you the real version if you'd like." The man said, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Can…can we go to Dad's now?" Jenny whispered a bit too audibly.

"Uh...sorry, mister. Yeah. My Dad's expecting us at the forest. Maybe some other time?" James responded.

"Okay. Then, I suppose you'll never find out what happened to the man or the children he kidnapped." The man said, turning away before slowly walking back towards his butchery.

"Wait." Michael said. "Don't you guys want to know how the real story goes? Then you'll be able to figure out why our parents were so worried!"

"Hm…But, what about Dad? It was only suppose to take us ten minutes to get to Dad's work. What will he say when we're really late?" James asked his friend.

"Yeah! And I wanted to see the animals!" Jenny said.

"Oh, don't worry about it! I'll call your Dad when we get inside if you give me his phone number. Who could resist a good story? I'll let him know you'll be a bit late so he won't worry." The man said, turning back with a knowing look upon his face. It was the sad nature of children to be so curious, wasn't it?

Michael shrugged. "Yeah. My mum says to keep off the streets because the man would be there, so I suppose it's okay if we stay inside this man's store?"

"And, for the little lass, I think I can show her a few animals if she wants inside." The man slid a small smile on his face as Jenny's face lit up.

"Thanks, mister! Say…what's your name?" James asked, completely sold on the authenticity of the man, while they walked towards the butchery, ignoring Jenny who stated to James in hushed tones that they were not allowed to talk to strangers.

The man turned his neck to face the children and replied with a few words.

"John…Mr. _John Collins.._."

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**Another A/N: The story should hopefully be done soon, and while I do have another Criminal Minds fic planned, that one is a bit complex, and so a bit of time would be needed to straighten everything out. In the meantime, after this, I will be temporarily stepping back from the Criminal Minds fandom and writing a bit for the Sherlock fandom.**

**theangelsarecoming: Thank you so much! And I am glad you picked up on the references. :)**


	11. Chapter 11: Framed

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Framed:

"Mr. and Mrs. Phillips…I know this is a very tense and…difficult situation for you, but please…when was the last time you saw your children?" JJ asked carefully.

Mr. Phillips took off his ranger's hat and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "My…my wife saw them last…She called me to tell that the children and their friend, Michael, were coming to visit me at work. They had been really wanting to see the forest, you know…" He said tiredly.

"But, I can't believe I let them go! I mean…I mean I _knew_ such _horrid _things were happening here, but it would only take them a few _minutes_ to walk there, and I made myself very clear when I said that they could not stop at all until they reached their father. Oh my God…Can you get them back for us?" Mrs. Phillips asked, tightly gripping her husband's arm for support.

"Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, the safety of your children is our priority, and we are doing everything in our power to get your children back, but in the meantime, please…try and get some rest. We will notify you if we find anything." JJ said, trying to reassure the panic-stricken parents.

"Thank you." Mr. Phillips simply said, while his wife nodded.

"Oh no…That's Michael's brother…Oh, the _poor lad_…" Mrs. Phillips sadly said, gesturing out the window of the office. Sure enough, an extremely agitated teenager stood in the main office talking to a police officer looking more anxious and frantic as every second passed by, evident in his pacing and his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Come on. Let's go comfort the lad. I heard from…from James that the two were very close." Mrs. Phillips tried to say to her husband before bursting out of the office and moving to the boy, grabbing him, and pulling him into a tight hug.

JJ stopped to watch as the boy finally broke down and sobbed, completely devastated with the fact that there was a chance that his younger brother would not come home ever again. Truly, it was these things that made the job emotionally straining. Who could possibly bear to see such people completely paralyzed with fear and worry? It was bad enough to witness the bodies left already, but somehow, it was worse to see those left behind completely fall apart as they worried.

Sighing, she stood up and walked into the team's makeshift workspace.

"So, do we have any new leads?" JJ asked Reid, who was busy rapidly reading over an acquired copy of _The Modest Proposal_ once more.

"Well…the unsub has been taking passages and quotes from this essay in a chronological manner…He never chooses to use any text that was in a previous section or paragraph. So, what we can expect and anticipate from our unsub is narrowed down, as he has already used up this text." Reid said, circling his finger around a large passage.

"Okay…So, if he does follow the rest of the text, then what will follow?" JJ asked.

"….Honestly, it's probably better to focus on catching the unsub before those things occur….It's….not pleasant." Reid answered.

"We're working on that, Spence…" JJ responded, grabbing the essay from Reid to have a look herself. "Well, he certainly doesn't have a lot of text left to work with…Ugh. You're right. That's _horrible_. But, what will happen when he runs out of quotes to use?" JJ stated.

Reid opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a furious Morgan, who angrily pulled the door open. "So. Hotch asked me to interrogate the other rangers that were working the same shift as Mr. Phillips to see if they saw or witnessed anything."

"Okay…So, did they see the children arrive at the forest? Was that where our unsub took them?" Reid asked.

"Not exactly, but…guess what a few rangers said." Morgan vehemently said.

"Just go on. Tell us." JJ said, placing the manuscript down and waiting for an answer.

"They said…they saw John Smith poking around the outskirts of the forest. _John Smith_. That _bastard_…I knew he was up to no good!" Morgan growled, banging his fist on the wall.

"…So, it's him? Our unsub is him? Then, have the police gone to apprehend him quickly before…the missing children are killed?" Reid asked.

"Yeah…They're leaving now. We can't really do anything, but we might as well come along…_Damnit…_I knew it was him!" Morgan said, grabbing his jacket from the chair nearby.

OoOoOo

"All right, boys…" Sheriff Byrnes began to say, gathering his gun and his hat. "We go in, and we get out with Mr. Smith. The FBI said that unnecessary violence should be avoided, and the safety of the children is our top priority. Got that?" He said, peering sternly into the anxious crowd of police officers.

"Good. Let's go, you lot." Sheriff Byrnes commanded.

The BAU merely followed the police officers who were all eager to apprehend the man who had been plaguing their town with stirred fear and panic among the parents of Kensdale.

During the ride to John Smith's butchery, the BAU remained quiet, contemplating if he really was the true unsub, though the rest of the Irish policemen loudly jeered and talked of how John Smith was sure to receive the death sentence once he was arrested.

"Ready? Okay…You two, go around the back…You lot over there? With me. We take the front. The rest of you…Eh…just stay around the rear…" Sheriff Byrnes stated once they reached the butchery.

"So…are we supposed to stay here and watch, Hotch?" Rossi asked.

"….I think we can go _with them_ and watch…which is all we can do here." Hotch tersely replied, beginning to walk behind the advancing policemen.

"Alright. On a count of three, we burst in…Everyone, try not to look pathetic. He might have the children next to him, and we don't want them to get hurt." Sheriff Byrnes said, placing a hand on the doorknob as the accompanying policemen nodded silently.

_Three…._

_Two…_

_One._

Sheriff Byrnes yanked open the door and ran inside, his gun held tightly in his hands as the other policemen followed. The BAU simply followed cautiously, not knowing what to expect, trailing behind the others.

"John Smith, you are under arrest for…Oh dear _God_…" The team heard Sheriff Byrnes say.

Quickening their pace, they walked into the main room and saw a horrid sight.

Rows and rows of freshly cut meat were neatly lined up on the counter, ready to be moved to the refrigerated, glass display near the front of the shop. John Smith froze, in the process of cutting into a large slab of skinned meat, his hands stained red from the blood.

Were they too late?

"No…._Damnit…._You bastard!" Sheriff Byrnes furiously yelled, waving his gun in the air, glaring at the raw, butchered meat and the large pools of blood that spread around the counter that dripped down to the ground.

John Smith, for the first time, looked completely defeated and scared, unlike the sneering and confident bravado he had shown Morgan. He raised his hands after several policemen angrily gesticulated wildly with their guns, letting the bloody knife in his hand fall to the floor with a clang.

"How _could _you?" a police officer asked, his eyes wide at the scene. Other officers quickly ran out the room as they felt that disgusting urge to empty the contents of their stomach, horrified with what they thought they saw. Sheriff Byrnes simply forced his defeated expression to tighten and agressively snapped cuffs on a wordlessly silent John Smith, who stammered unintelligible words with wide eyes.

The team watched as a tightly handcuffed John Smith was roughly shoved outside to the waiting car. The streams of blood began to trickle down the tiled floor and pooled at the team's feet.

Silence fell, and the team stood, wondering if they once again had been regrettably too late.

Was the freshly butchered meat the…children?

Was their unsub finally caught?

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**A/N: Yes, so we have approximately four chapters left! Thanks for the reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12: How Many More?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 12: How Many More?

John Collins couldn't believe his luck. He had been…_disposing_ of some things outside his butchery when three children had walked straight past him. And, they were talking about _him_, of all things! Had word spread this quickly around Kensdale about his heroic acts?

But, it had all been too easy.

Was John just incredibly lucky, or had fate had sent the children to him? Perhaps John was _meant_ to save Kensdale after all, and all of these kids that had been seemingly and…coincidentally crossing paths with him were _supposed_ to be used to save Kensdale.

John knew he should have been more cautious, as calling out to them and leading them into his butchery's hidden basement in broad daylight was exceedingly risky. But, all of the new meat he had prepared was almost running out, and just think of all the meat _three_ children could provide Kensdale!

"So…when are you going to call our dad?" the boy named James asked, diverting John's attention towards him as they walked down the stairs.

John gestured to the chairs in the first room, and as the children made themselves comfortable in them, he responded to them. "I could call him now, if you'd like. Do you know his number?" John said, plastering a fake, reassuring smile upon his face.

"Cool. Yeah…here's his number. Mum makes us keep emergency contacts wherever we go…Here you go." James said, pulling a folded paper from his coat pocket.

"Great…now, while I go and call your dad, would any of you like anything to drink? It's been rather cold outside, and I have some hot chocolate. Would you like some?" John asked.

The kids look at each other and grinned, answering him with a few choruses of _'Yes Please!'_ and '_Thank You!'_

Nodding, John left to go make them hot chocolate. It would be their last drink after all…

After putting on a kettle on the stove upstairs, John opened the folded paper. He had absolutely no intention of phoning the children's parents, but he was still quite curious. Who were the children's parents?

He knew Michael's parents. _Everyone_ in Kensdale knew them. It was common knowledge that the boy's parents were the town's top lawyers and often spent hours at work, leaving their older son to care for Michael. Hell, John was sure Michael's mother helped advise _Moira_ on variously different forms of action during their…divorce.

But who were the other two children's parents? John wanted to know exactly whose lives he was regrettably but unavoidably ruining…So, smoothing open the paper with his hand, he peered at the list of names.

Oh! These were the Phillips' children. John remembered both parents occasionally stopped by to purchase meat. How heartbroken would they be? Yes, their children were being taken away from their lives for a good cause, but that never would stop the pain and hurt that would follow.

John clucked his tongue in regret, and prepared the cups of steaming hot chocolate before carrying the mugs downstairs to the waiting children.

"Oh!" Jenny exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. "Thank you! Mummy never lets us drink such large cups of hot chocolate."

John nodded and passed around the steaming mugs before taking a sip out of his own. After relishing in that sweet taste and the spread warmth around his body, John cleared his throat. "So, you want to hear the _true_ story of the flesh-eating man Michael told you about?"

The children nodded excitedly. "All right…Once upon a time, there was a tired man, weary with the burdens of life…For all of his life, he had dreamt of healing people…simply…_helping_ them. Sadly, cruel fate swept him away from that particular path of life, and he became a lowly butcher instead…kind of like me!" John chuckled.

"But, sir…Mr. Collins? What does this have to do with the flesh eating man?" James asked confusedly.

"Yeah! Does he _really_ eat the flesh of the children he steals away?" Michael asked, leaning forward on his chair.

"…And where are the animals you said you would show me?" Jenny asked, tugging on John's sleeve.

John smiled sadly at the children….Oh _God_…And such innocent beings would be gone so _soon_. But, it was all _necessary_…

"All in good time, children. Now, on with the story!" John said, gesticulating with a free hand. "You know, one day, this man noticed the…_hardships_ Kensdale had endured. Don't tell me you haven't noticed." John said, looking at the children.

"Well, Mummy says that Daddy has to work longer for us. Does that count?" Jenny asked, tilting her head a bit.

Michael merely scoffed. "Oh, _please_, Jenny…Have you _seen_ my parents? They practically never come home at all…You're _lucky_ you have your mum at home with you at least." He said as a frown began to spread across his face.

"Hey! At least you have an older brother Michael. Jeremy looks after you so much!" James said, smiling as he watched Michael's frown soften considerably at the thought of his older brother.

"Oh, children…Yes, our parents work very hard for all of you, but this man noticed that it just wasn't _enough_. Kensdale really just needed an extra _push_…So, that's where the excitement begins. He found this old manuscript of his, _The Modest Proposal_, a brilliant essay proposing various methods of eradicating poverty in Ireland. That essay laid down a new path for him in life, and, perhaps you're a bit young to understand, but it brought him a sense of…_purpose_. And, he then realized that in order to give Kensdale that shove to regeneration, he needed to get rid of the _children_." John dramatically stated, looking intently at Jenny, who had gripped her brother's sleeve tightly.

"So, he stole away all the children he could find…and…and _killed_ them. That would be a few less mouths to feed, yeah? But, then…he had a thought. What if he could feed other people, so burdened with poverty, with the children? This is the part, children…Listen carefully. This man had a taste of the cooked children to make sure it was edible. It _was_. So, he sold bits and bits of the children to the townspeople. Look how much more meat the town had now! And today, this man still looks after Kensdale in his own, _twisted_ way." John finished solemnly.

The children fell silent, staring at him with wide, wide eyes, evidently frozen with shock and fright. John realized that the older two would most likely figure out the truth and panic, so he had to act in order to pacify their growing, suspicious fear.

"Jenny? Would seeing animals make you feel better?" John asked the trembling girl.

"Yes, please! What types?" Jenny managed to say, perking up at the mention of animals.

"Come here...They're close. I have…chickens, pigs, oh, but you simply must see the cows! They're quite large." John said, reaching his arm out to the little girl.

"Okay…" Jenny simply said, taking John's arm and allowing herself to be lead away by him.

"Okay, lads. Why don't you stay there? I'll be back in a few." John said to the boys.

"Ooh! What types of cows do you have? Are they brown? Are they black? And, how do you keep cows down here? Don't they need grass? And sun?" Jenny rapidly asked.

John chuckled at her curiosity. "Oh, but I have special cows! They're red, and they don't need grass or sun anymore. Don't you want to see?"

Jenny nodded excitedly. "Where are they?"

John opened the door to the freezer room and patted his pocket to make sure his knife was still there.

"There. Don't you see them hanging from the hooks over there? Oh, look how big they are!" John said, anticipating a reaction from Jenny.

Jenny took one look at the hanging, red carcasses of some cows John had butchered a while back and simply screamed, ripping her hand away from John.

"JAAAAMES! MICHAAAEL!" Jenny shrieked, making an attempt to run out the door.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" John muttered to himself.

He quickly grabbed Jenny, roughly tilted her head up, and brought his knife over her throat.

The screaming stopped.

John laid her body on the ground and held up his knife once more, expecting the boys to run in.

In a few moments, James rushed in calling Jenny's name. He took one look at her motionless, bloody body on the ground, looked back up at John's wild countenance and his bloody hands, and simply yelled.

"Shh…I don't want another headache." John calmly stated, running towards the terrified boy.

And, for the second time that day, John plunged his knife into the boy's neck and tore it open.

The body dropped and John simply caught it before moving it towards Jenny's body. Standing up, he turned around and found Michael completely frozen, staring at his friends' crumpled bodies.

"…_You're_ that man…that flesh-eating man." Michael accused, backing up, attempting to reach the door.

John sighed. "Yes, and it took you a bit longer than I expected to figure it out. Haven't your parents ever told you to never talk to strangers?"

John grabbed Michael and pushed him back into the room. Michael gave a startled yell and fell, using his hands to stop his fall. Michael solemnly looked up at John, noticing all that blood dripping around his friends nearby.

"You know…My brother's going to kill you, right?" He said, hugging his knees to his chest, watching the bloodied knife John gripped.

"Your…brother? But, how would he know what I've done?" John replied, circling the boy.

"I don't know. But, he said that if anybody ever tried to hurt me, he'd _kill_ them." Michael said, staring up at John now.

"He can try if he wants…" John shrugged.

"…Why did you have to kill James and Jenny?" Michael whispered.

"To save Kensdale." John replied, examining his knife. Huh. He should really sharpen it soon…

"Can…Can you let me go?" Michael tentatively asked.

"Why would I do that, Michael? I'm afraid not." John sighed, raising his knife.

"Please? PLEASE!" Michael cried, edging himself away into a corner.

John walked up to the retreating boy completely overwhelmed with fear.

"PLEASE! I PROMISE I WON'T TELL! I PROMISE I WON'T TELL! PL—"

How regrettable…Poor Michael. John stared at the little boy's body, whose open mouth stopped producing those pitiful cries for mercy. He didn't blame him, though…Wouldn't it be absolutely terrifying to look into the face of the person who would kill you, knowing you had moments, maybe _seconds_ left to live and to _breathe?_

No.

Michael's cries for mercy were…pitiful, but what did you expect from a young child?

John began to carry Jenny's body upstairs for butchering, and after he grabbed James' body, his body grew a bit tired. Carrying two children up the stairs was already strenuous…Now, he didn't want to carry Michael's. Perhaps, he would only need to butcher the Phillips children and if Kensdale needed more meat, then he would use Michael.

Upstairs, John excitedly began to butcher the children, falling into that familiar, mechanical pattern as he raised the knife up and down across the bodies until such glorious amounts of meat were produced. Turning the decapitated, unblinking heads away from him, John began to load all that new, fresh meat into the glass display in the front of the shop.

Yes! Three less mouths to feed! And two bodies worth of food for Kensdale to feed on. Oh my goodness! John wanted to see the effects of it all on the town.

So, he excitedly ran outside his butchery, bloody self and all, and stared out in hopes that he had made a noticeable difference. But, what he saw dismayed him. There were still tired looking people walking around. And, were those beggars lined up on the street?

No…Why were there still so many struggling people?

Irritation began to built up inside of John, and he felt on of those terrible headaches begin to build up again. Heading inside, he collapsed in a chair and let his mind succumb to aggravated and tumultuous thoughts.

DID THESE NEW CHILDREN DONE ANYTHING TO HELP THE TOWN AT ALL?

John clenched his head in frustration.

IT WASN'T ENOUGH!

No…how many more must fall in order for Kensdale to regenerate?

HOW MANY MORE?

John grabbed his keys, a large knife, and hobbled out the door, attempting to ignore that splitting pain in his head.

Fine. He would have to get rid of so much _more_ people.

Driving around the town after grabbing James' and Jenny's heads and shoving them in his truck, John looked for an area secluded from witnesses but enough people to kill and also a place to dump the heads. This time, it wouldn't matter if he killed children or adults. Killing children was evidently not enough, and so adults would have to go as well.

John drove past a park, and then slammed on the brakes.

A park.

That was it.

The park was far from the road, no one else was around, and there were plenty of children and mothers there…

After parking his truck, John casually walked up to the people inside the park. He walked to one side shaded by large trees and placed the two heads on the ground with another card. At this point, he was surprised nobody saw him holding…heads. Nonetheless, he began to walk towards the playground. Mothers were either playing with their children or sitting on the bench talking to each other as their children ran around the park. And…why was there a teenaged boy there? Was he babysitting someone? John shrugged, but merely took out his knife, which no one had noticed just yet…

Then, piercing screams filled the air, replacing the previous calm, as John grabbed the nearest person next to him, not even _caring_ if it was a child this time, and closed his eyes as he felt the blade sink into the victim's soft neck and noticed warm blood dripping out of the wound onto his hands.

The body collapsed, and John didn't even feel a shred of remorse. Kensdale needed this. The screaming women hugged their children, and some even tried to run away.

"STOP!" John bellowed, causing more children to cry and mothers to hug them closer. "If any one of you _dares_ to leave here or call anyone, I will personally run after you and gut all of your pathetic little children." John snarled menacingly, waving his knife in the air.

Honestly, he was surprised that no one actually continued to attempt to escape. He was just a man with a knife…He didn't even have a gun. But, he supposed that fear incomprehensibly crippled the mind and judgment as he saw the mothers sitting back down, ceasing all attempts to run away.

"Oh my _God_…How many of you are pregnant?" John disgustedly said, looking around at the crowd, noticing a few swollen figures. "How did you even _expect_ to be able to feed your children? Have you not….SEEN KENSDALE?" John practically screamed, causing a new wave of hysteria to crash over the people.

"IT'S ALL THANKS TO YOUR _CHILDREN_! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU STARVED FOR THEM? HOW CAN YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?" John said, continuing to bellow at the subdued crowd.

No one dared to answer him, and the park was devoid of all sound except a single wail of sorrow. John _had_ killed a child, and the fallen child's mother hovered over the bloody body, obviously emotionally devastated.

"Well…" John said, his tone dropping. "I've been trying to fix that problem…For Kensdale. And, do you want to know the only way I can fix this….this economic crisis? Killing all of you. That's it. Maybe your children is not enough…Maybe _all_ have to go." John raved.

And then, he leapt at the nearest person and sliced a neck open, causing more and more screams to fill the air. In the next moments, all of time seemed to blur together as John threw himself at the retreating children and mothers, causing mass panic and terrified screaming to erupt. He angrily stabbed body after body, not even bothering to give them a relatively quick death, while his knife became a silver blur tainted with blood.

It didn't _matter_.

They needed to go.

After a while, John stopped his assault and looked around at what he had done, and though he had mostly finished attacking all the people possible, the sound of metal tearing into flesh rang over and over in his head.

There were so many bodies…

Ah…John succeeded… What was that? About ten less people for the town to worry about? How great! John felt an overwhelming sense of pleased fulfillment and smiled to himself at the massacre before him, ignoring all the blood that had splattered upon him.

But, wait…

That teenaged boy he had seen earlier attempted to stand up with a groan, clutching his arm, which profusely bled. In his raged frenzy, John supposed he had missed his target and just opted to stab everything in sight without really looking at _where_ he stabbed.

That boy still had go, though…But, oh God… _Damn_…John saw some people walking along the road far, far away…What if they saw him? There was simply no time…He needed to get out of here quickly. But, what should he do about this boy…the only remaining person at this park?

There was no time.

John grabbed the boy, slid the knife across the boy's neck and ordered him to walk to John's truck while throwing down another card with words from _A Modest Proposal_ again.

"Hey, let me go! Stop!" The boy said, struggling weakly, wary of the blade pressed to his neck.

"Come on…" John growled, dragging him to his waiting vehicle.

Throwing him in the passenger seat, John ran to the driver's seat, turned on the engine, and drove away back to his butchery without a real plan in mind.

"What do you want with me? Why did you kill…._all those people?_" the boy asked, his face white with terror.

"…Haven't you heard about that man supposedly terrorizing the town? You've met him now." John offhandedly replied, not even looking at the boy.

"…Does this mean you're the one that took Michael Flynn?" the boy asked, warily eyeing John's knife, though noticeable anger crept into his voice.

John scoffed. "Huh. Why would you care? He was just another burden to Kensdale."

The boy simple glared back and raised his voice. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my little brother like that. Where have you taken him?_"_

…Little brother?

This was…_Michael's_ brother? The one who would supposedly kill him for taking Michael?

…How _interesting_.

That was all John could simply think, as his mind was preoccupied with a horrible revelation, and for now, he ignored Jeremy Flynn. He would deal with him later…

Killing all those women and their children helped a bit, he supposed, but perhaps a great sacrifice was needed to finally eradicate this damned poverty once and for all.

A sacrifice...

And what would he consider the greatest sacrifice for the cause?

His stepson.

_Seamus._


	13. Chapter 13: The Wrong John

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 13: The Wrong John

The ride back to the police station was a slightly jovial one, at least for the Irish policemen. To the police officers, they had evidently caught the monster that had been plaguing their town. They believed that their people were _safe_ now, and there was a definite lessening of tension and fear.

But, the BAU sat in silence, wondering if these new piles of meat were the children they had been too late to save…

Pulling up in the driveway, Morgan leapt out of the car. "I've got this…I _knew_ there was something wrong with him the first time I interrogated him."

With that, he followed two policemen who lead the handcuffed, trembling John Smith inside to a room.

"Handcuff him to the table…We wouldn't want him escaping now, would we?" Morgan directed at the police officers inside.

"Now…John Smith…Not so sure of yourself now? Answer me this: Did you kill the missing children first before butchering them into bits of meat or did you throw yourself at them, hacking into their flesh as they screamed for you to stop?" Morgan growled.

"…Wait…you think I…_killed _the missing children? What?" John Smith said, confusion leaking into his shaken demeanor.

"Witnesses have you at the nearby forest, which was where the children were supposed to go." Morgan said.

"Not to mention all that blood and mountains of….flesh back at your butchery you were cutting into when we arrested you." The observing policeman piped up.

"…I'm a _butcher_ for God's sake! Isn't that my job? To provide meat for all of you lot?" John Smith incredulously said.

"Not when you're butchering _children_." Morgan said.

"Children? _Children?_ Really? I would never! And, I was only at the forest because…because I was…I was killing protected _animals_ to take back to the butchery." John Smith exasperatedly confessed.

"…What?" Morgan asked, turning to look upon the man.

"Yeah! Honest to God! The first time you dragged me to your little police station, I was actually shocked that that the Americans would stupidly send some hotshot agents to go arrest me for _killing protected animals_. Happy now? I never killed those children! I only thought you knew what I had done." John Smith groaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

Morgan was speechless, as he had been so sure that John Smith was the unsub, and the man in question had even been at the last place the missing children were supposed to have been. And, now this…

Was he lying?

Suddenly, Hotch opened the door, his cold gaze flickering to John Smith, and spoke. "Morgan, the policemen are leaving with the rest of our team. Two dumping sites have been found."

John Smith was not their unsub.

OoOoOo

"Exactly why did Hotch stay behind again? I thought we've established that John Smith is not our unsub…" Rossi said as the team stepped out of the car.

"I suppose he wanted to see if John Smith knew or had any butcher friends that would have done something like this." JJ replied.

A rather downcast policeman approached them rubbing his forehead in discomfort and undeniable sadness. "Right…So, this un…unsub left two dumping grounds. It seems that he placed the heads of two of the three missing children under that tree…" He said, pointing in some direction. "Then, he made his way over to the playground and…killed all the people there."

Morgan nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you…Rossi, you and I can check out the first dumping site. JJ and pretty boy over here can go see if they can figure out anything new at the playground."

"Great. Come on, Spence…" JJ said, pulling the Reid towards the playground.

"…You really thought John Smith was our unsub, didn't you?" Rossi casually said as they walked towards the large tree.

"Yeah…I was so _sure_ of it….But, I guess not. There's no way that he could have time to do all of this and be back at his butchery carving up _that_ much meat." Morgan said, his frustration quite noticeable.

"That only means we'll have to try harder to catch our real unsub." Rossi said as they approached the decapitated heads. "But, two heads? Why not three? What do you think he did with the third kid's body?"

"…Two kids…Two bodies…Think of all the meat just _two_ kids would have produced. Maybe he thought he could store the third one for use if he ever ran out." Morgan said, bending down to get a closer look.

"Yeah, there's that same clean cut on both neck areas. If he was remorseful, these precise cuts didn't show it." Morgan observed.

"But, he's left another one of those cards. Look…" Rossi said, squatting down next to Morgan and squinting at a white card a few feet away from the heads.

"_I Profess in the sincerity of my Heart that I have not the least personal Interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary Work having no other Motive than the __publick Good of my Country__, by __advancing our Trade, providing for Infants, relieving the Poor…"_

"Okay. So, our unsub is modest about what he's done…He's doing all of this for the town and doesn't seek recognition for any of it, and he seems to only care about saving Kensdale. But, we already knew that…There's nothing new about this." Morgan said.

"Maybe JJ and Reid's found something else." Rossi said, standing up and brushing some clinging dirt off his clothes.

OoOoOo

Accompanied by a few trailing policemen, Reid and JJ walked towards the playground. Approaching closer, they simply stared at all those bodies before them. So many more were dead, and it had looked like they had died in undeniable pain and fright. The ghosts of their last screams were still etched upon their limp, motionless bodies, and their limbs lay twisted in no normal position.

_More _children were dead.

Now their _mothers_ were dead.

Now was not the time for sympathy and sentiment.

It was the time to think, profile, and find the real unsub.

"He's escalated…Now, instead of killing just children, he's lashed out at their mothers." JJ said, looking at the bloody remains of the massacre.

"And he's also stopped taking the time to kidnap his victims…He's spontaneously killing now, and look at all these stab wounds, JJ…Only a few people have slit throats. The rest of these people have at least…five stab wounds. It's overkill. What could have triggered this escalation?" Reid observed.

"He left another card." JJ said a few feet away from Reid, noticing a white card poking out of the grass a few feet away from the nearest body. Bending down, she was careful not to touch the card dropped by the unsub, but read the text aloud for Reid to hear.

"_I have no children by which I can propose to get a single penny; the youngest being nine years old, and my wife past child-bearing." _

Underneath the quote, though, a few words were written in messy black ink:

_But I do._

"So, the unsub's next victim is going to be his own child…" JJ said.

"And, this is the last line of the essay, JJ. This is it…He thinks that this final…sacrifice of his child or children would save Kensdale once and for all. There's nothing else for him to do…" Reid said.

"That would explain why he's escalated. He still sees that there is no….noticeable change in Kensdale's economic situation after killing the missing children…So, frustrated, he goes off and kills…these people, children and mothers all alike." JJ added.

"So, all we need to do now is have another look at our list of suspects and see who has a child." Reid said as they walked back.

"Well, whoever our unsub is, he must be pretty desperate to alleviate this economic problem if he's willing to sacrifice his own kid." JJ said.

OoOoOo

Hotch was tired of John Smith and his ramblings. All the man in custody had done in the past moments were just going on and on about how sorry he was and other topics of that sort.

"Please, please, please! Can you lower my sentence! A man's got to be able to work!" John Smith pleaded, his handcuffs rattling against the table.

"We're done here." Hotch said, standing up and walking towards the door, wondering why the real unsub was just so elusive. Sure, all organized serial killers were all hard to catch, but it shouldn't have been _this_ hard in a town this small…

"Oh, come on! I know it's a crime, but I've got to make a living _somehow_! And, that John Collins has ben stealing all of my customers!" John Smith called out.

"….John _Collins_? Did you say?" Hotch asked, turning around.

"Yeah, one day he shows up with all this new, fresh meat. Nobody knows how he ever managed to butcher all of that, but nobody's complaining or asking. And, so how am I supposed to compete with _that_ sort of competition? Of course I had to go hunt for animals in the protected forest! How else am I supposed to make a living?" John Smith tiredly said.

John…_Collins?_

If this was true, then oh…they had arrested the wrong John… And this time, Hotch couldn't have been surer in his life. How could he have easily dismissed John Collins so soon? Looking back now, in hindsight, John Collins fit so much of the profile. How could Hotch let himself become distracted by another suspect who _seemed_ like the real unsub and forgot about this other one?

It had cost the town more children…something Hotch wasn't willing to focus on at the moment. His BAU had a larger problem to deal with.

Sweeping open the door briskly, Hotch marched over his team.

"John Smith isn't our unsub…_John Collins _is." He simply stated.


	14. Chapter 14: Son

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 14: Son

"Hotch…Are you sure? Why John Collins?" JJ asked.

"John Smith mentioned that John Collins had stolen all of his customers away because he was somehow acquiring all this new meat from somewhere nobody knows….What if that meat came from the butchered children?" Hotch replied, flipping open the information Garcia sent the team about John Collins.

"But, you interviewed him yourself…Wouldn't he have seemed a bit odd?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing really jumped out, unfortunately…He said he never minored in any sort of literature…But, that wouldn't mean that he never loved his literature classes at college." Hotch answered.

"Hang on…So, say he is our real unsub…Why would he start noticing all of this now and acting _now?_ He's lived in Kensdale for nearly all of his life…Why has he acted now and not back then?" Rossi questioned.

"Look, guys…This may not be the full reason, but Garcia sent us medical records…He has a malignant tumor, and he's got not much longer to live." Reid said, looking up from some paperwork.

"So, he's seeing his life tick by, and he's spent all this time in his butchery doing what he considers useless work. All this time, he's seen the poor people suffer. Now, he must have thought that it would've been a great time to change Kensdale." JJ said.

"Okay…But, what about his kid? You know…his final sacrifice to save Kensdale?" Rossi asked.

"It seems like he doesn't have any true sons or daughters, but he's got a step-son from a previous marriage to this woman named Moira. Her son's name is Seamus." Reid added.

"He's probably heading there right now, and we need directions to her residence…" Hotch said.

"I'll call Garcia, then." Morgan said, whipping out his cell phone. "Hello, baby girl...Do you remember that file you sent us on John Collins?" Morgan asked after dialing her number.

"Hello! Missed me so soon? Ha...I'm joking, you! But, yes I do. What do you need?" Garcia cheerfully replied.

"Can you send us the address of his ex-wife and his butchery?" Morgan smiled despite the tense situation.

"Consider it done, my lovely!" Garcia said.

"All right… Thanks." Morgan grinned before hanging up. Moments later, his phone beeped as a text message appeared from Garcia with the address of the needed locations.

"Good…Let's go." Hotch said.

"Did you hear that, boys? This is the real deal." Sheriff Byrnes bellowed at his scrambling officers.

Thus, the whole Irish police force packed itself along with the BAU into a few cars before speeding off to Moira's house.

When they arrived, Sheriff Byrnes immediately started barking out orders at his men before rushing up the front steps, leaving the BAU to slowly clamber out of the car and stay behind.

"We're observing again…" Rossi distastefully noted.

"It's not our jurisdiction." Hotch tersely replied.

So, the BAU watched from the blaring sirens like shadows in the night, simply observing the scene with grave, solemn gazes as policemen swarmed the residence, each tightly gripping their guns, anxious of what was to come.

"Steady, boys…We don't know if he's in there." Sheriff Byrnes said to the waiting police officers as he walked towards the front door and knocked, the dull thuds reverberating in the dead silence outside.

Moira opened the door, but shut it halfway as soon as she saw the scene before her.

"Sheriff Byrnes? What are you doing here with all of these policemen? What is it? Has something happened?" Moira asked, her face paling slightly as she cautiously peeked out.

"Moira, listen…Is Seamus home?" Sheriff Byrnes asked.

"No…He went to go pick up some meat at John's, you know…like every Sunday. Why?" Moira replied.

"I'm sorry, but there's just no good way to put this. We believe that _John's_ the man who's killed all the children lately, and he's after Seamus." Sheriff Byrnes gravely said, motioning at some police officers to go drive off to the butchery.

Moira's expression stayed expressionless for a moment. "I…I don't believe you. He wouldn't! He _loves_ Seamus!"

"I'm sorry. It's all true. But, we need your help... Can you do that? Can you come with us and try to talk him down before he does something else we're all going to regret?" Sheriff Byrnes said.

"Of…of course. Oh my God…Is he going to be all right?" Moira asked, clutching at her neck, allowing herself to be lead to a waiting car.

"We can only hope that we can get there this time." Sheriff Byrnes honestly said.

And, on they went once more, rushing towards John Collins' butchery, hoping that _this time_, perhaps there was still time to save another life…Maybe they weren't _too late_ this time…

OoOoOo

After rushing to his butchery, John climbed out of his truck and pulled Jeremy out, placing his knife on the boy's back, urging him to move.

"Come on…_Faster_." John growled, shoving the boy as they walked down the stairs to the basement.

"Stop it!" Jeremy protested as they walked past the first room and towards the second.

"What do you even want with…me…" Jeremy's voice trailed off as John opened the door to the second room and pushed him inside, shivering at the new cold.

Jeremy ignored the bright light and the frozen carcasses hanging off hooks in the room and focused his attention on the body sprawled in the corner of the room. Walking slowly, he ignored the threat John's blade posed.

"No…It can't be…" Jeremy breathlessly said, his voice tightening with fresh pain as he ran to the body near the corner. "Oh my God…._Michael….._MICHAEL!" Jeremy screamed, cradling the bloody body in his arms.

For a while, John watched the distraught boy hug his brother's body closer, heart-wrenchingly crying as he pressed his forehead to the smaller boy's cold forehead. He figured that such an emotionally numb boy should not be that much of a physical threat.

….God, was he _wrong_.

Jeremy gently placed his brother's body back on the ground, arranged his unmoving limbs neatly, and stood up with another sob, though when he looked upon John, nothing but hate, pain, and anger emitted from his countenance.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Jeremy shrieked, throwing himself at John, knocking away the blade John had hastily attempted to pull out in defense.

Oh….Michael was right.

Jeremy would attempt to kill him…

"You're quite the fighter, aren't you, Jeremy?" John calmly stated as they struggled. "That's more than what I could say for your brother…God, you should have heard him _beg_ for his life!"

A choked sob tore itself out of Jeremy's throat, and with an angry yell, the boy charged at John with more vigor and renewed will.

"THAT WAS MY BROTHER! MY BROTHER!" Jeremy yelled, his fists attempting to pummel John, who dodged some of the blows.

"You've got quite a spirit, Jeremy." John winced as the hysterically furious boy kicked his shins and landed a blow on his shoulder.

"SHUT UP! YOU KILLED MICHAEL!" Jeremy screamed back before suffering a few blows himself.

"I'm sorry…It was necessary. But, at least I haven't cut him up yet! I have no need for his flesh yet. The Phillips children have provided enough meat for now." John responded calmly.

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER! HE. WAS. MY. _BROTHER_! HE'S ALL I HAVE AND HE'S GONE!" Jeremy yelled with such primal ferocity.

"You've got quite a pair of lungs on y—" John tried to say before he felt himself fall to the ground, knocked over by one of Jeremy's especially aggressive assaults.

With a scream, the boy latched himself to John and placed his hands, bruised from the struggle, around John's neck before squeezing as angry tears trickled down his face.

No…._No._

John couldn't allow himself to succumb to a _child_ for God's sake! He had his final sacrifice left!

Gasping for air, John struggled to pull Jeremy off of him, only to inevitably cause him to cling harder. Oh God….This wasn't good. John's vision began to grow hazy as everything seemed to blur together.

_So this is how Michael felt in his last moments…_

The prospect of death strips many of their bravado and courage, and as John resorted to clawing at the ground furiously thinking of something…_anything_ to force the boy off so he could simply _breathe_, his hands reached out and grabbed something cold and hard from the ground.

Too desperate to even care what it was, John wrapped his fingers around it and smashed it over Jeremy's head, causing the boy to slump over, unconscious as broken shards of the object flew threw the air from the force of it all.

John took in a deep, deep breath of blessed air, still feeling his heart race so fast. For a few moments, he simply laid there on the ground as he recovered from his near-asphyxiation. It was so funny…People normally took breathing for granted, but when they were threatened with the possibility that no more air would pass through their body, all they could think about was _breathing_…

And, that was all John did. He breathed in and out, relishing in his ability to do so. It was such a beautiful thing….

Moments later, after John recovered well enough, he shakily sat up and gazed at the scene before him. Oh…so that's what the object was. John looked upon the smashed mug he had served one of the children with previously…Jenny must have brought it here.

Then, his mind registered an unconscious Jeremy sprawled over next to him. Looking around, John found his knife, retrieved it, and moved back towards Jeremy Flynn.

Oh dear…both Flynn brothers would be dead.

John traced the Jeremy's warm neck with his blade as the boy's unconscious form slightly moved up and down as he breathed, wondering where he should make the incision this time. He'd always stabbed the neck from the side before ripping it across the neck. How different would it be if he just cut from the middle?

It was worth a go, wasn't it? So, John tilted the boy's head upwards with his free hand, revealing more neck to slice open. Pressing his blade in the middle of the Jeremy's neck, droplets of blood began to emerge from the tiny punctured wound the tip of the blade made.

John took a deep breath to steady his hand, and prepared to bring his knife swiftly downward, pressing the blade tip deeper until –

Until….a boy's voice interrupted him.

"John? Hey, John? Where are you?" the voice called.

John shoved the knife back into his pocket and glanced at the unconscious boy. He would have to wait because now, _Seamus_ was here.

Slowly walking upwards, almost like a dream, John ascended the staircase and came face to face with Seamus. His eyes gazed upon his stepson's windswept, blonde hair and the freckles adorning his face. Oh, he had grown so much throughout the years…

"Seamus…I remember the last time you called me Dad…even _Daddy._ You were nine. What happened?" John cryptically said, emerging from the back of his butchery to face his stepson.

"I…Well, that's not important right now. Do you have anything for us today?" Seamus said, looking down at the ground, not quite meeting John's searching gaze.

"Yeah…I've got something in the back. Come with me?" John asked.

Seamus nodded and followed his former stepfather into the back of his butchery. "What? You've had some secret…secret basement in the back all this time and you never told me?" Seamus incredulously remarked as he watched John open that tiny door in the ground, revealing a flight of descending stairs.

John smiled sadly. "Seamus, you never did stick around long enough whenever you came here."

Seamus said nothing, but simply strode down the stairs.

"So, how's rugby?" John casually asked, hoping to alleviate some of the tension.

"Fine…Coach thinks we're going to make it to the finals. But, why would you care? You've always hated the sport…and always went on and on about how I should quit." Seamus answered, not bothering to look behind at John as he walked down the stairs.

"Seamus…It doesn't mean I don't _care_. I just want you to have a fulfilling life…to be able to do great things…things I would have never got to do…" John answered, feeling his pocket for his knife as Seamus gazed at the room he walked into.

"You…_cared?_ Oh, you _think_ you cared, but if you really cared, then why have all you done so far is shove meat at Mum and me every Sunday, thinking that would be enough? Why have you not paid child support? It's all right, I suppose…We get by, Mum and me…But, a little support would have really showed. And, why have you not even bothered to visit? I think we would have liked that you would've showed a bit of…_effort_ in staying in our lives." Seamus angrily said, turning around to look at John with a furious countenance.

"And, for that, I am truly sorry…There is nothing I would have loved more than to stay with you two. But, if you remember, it was your dear _mum_ that wanted the divorce. Remember?" John threw back, his fists clenching.

"She only did it because you weren't _there_…You were always cooped up in this butchery! You were never _home_…And, I think I truly hoped that you would have done a better job at playing Dad then my real one!" Seamus yelled.

"That's because I wanted to make sure you both were _eating_ and _living well_….How else were we to make ends meet?" John tensely said.

"You know what? I think…I think I would have rather _starved_ if that meant I got a real Dad for a few years…When Mum and you first married, I thought that you were going to be him. A dad. Two years later, you changed…And I resent you for that." Seamus said, turning his back upon John.

John felt all this fresh pain crash upon him….He loved him so much. Had it never shown? Was he truly that bad at showing affection and true care for someone?

"Now…if you'll just wrap up some meat, I'll be out of your hair once more…Is it here?" Seamus said, walking towards the second door.

"Wait…Seamus, don't! Don't go in there!" John said, rushing towards the boy. Oh no…The Flynn boys were in there, and Seamus couldn't see them…Otherwise, everything would be all _ruined_…

"I don't think you have the right to tell me what to do. Now, is it h—…Oh…my.._God….._John what the _hell_ have you done?" Seamus said in complete horror, all anger thrown aside, as he gazed upon the dried blood around Michael and the unconscious form of Jeremy.

"Now, now, Seamus…It's not what you think…Why don't we go to the other room?" John shakily said, trying to steer Seamus away.

"Get your hands off me!" Seamus said, shrugging off John's grasp and backing up into the wall behind him. "Oh, _God_….Are you that madman who's been running around and _killing children?_"

John supposed there was simply no way around it. "Yes…..But, I did it for _Kensdale_." He said, as he took out his knife as a warning.

"What the _hell, _John? And is that a knife? What…are you going to use it on me, too? I'm leaving and I'm calling the police." Seamus made a frantic leap towards the door, only to be stopped by John.

"You _can't _leave!" John cried, his free hand pulling at the boy while the other bashed the blunt of the knife on his head, causing the boy to fall, unconscious.

Trembling, John caught the boy and laid him on the ground. What did he do? What did he _do?_ He couldn't have killed him yet…._No._ Panicking, John felt for a pulse…a sign of life... and relaxed slightly after he felt that steady thump.

No….John needed to explain himself better to the boy and let him know exactly how he felt…That he always considered him his own _son_. And, he also wanted him to hear why he was being sacrificed before he regrettably had to kill him.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'll definitely have the last chapter done before the New Year. And, I've just realized that I definitely shouldn't have named Michael's older brother Jeremy...Now I've got Jeremy Sayer and now Jeremy Flynn. Ooh. I've only realized that now. Oh dear...**


	15. Chapter 15: The End

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or _A Modest Proposal._ At all.**

**WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 15: The End

"Wake up, Seamus! I'm sorry about hitting you on the head and all…And, sorry about tying you up?" John winced. He didn't want Seamus to struggle any more, and time was running out...He needed to regrettably end Seamus in order to brutally shove Kensdale into recovery.

Seamus stirred, feeling rather groggy, and winced as his head throbbed. "What…wait what the hell? Why did you tie me up, John?" He said, pulling his wrists against the ropes that John had tied, seemingly forgetting about the Flynns behind him.

"Oh, yeah…For that, you'll have to forgive me. I couldn't have you struggling again…" John amended.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "You know, you've always been absolutely _mental_. Can you just let me go? And, is that a gun _and_ a knife? What are you doing?" He chuckled. "Are you going hunting soon?"

John looked at the gun besides him. It was his own father's, and frankly, he knew that there was a chance that the police would catch up to him soon. How soon, he didn't know. He cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"Seamus, just listen…okay? Just _listen?_ For one moment?" John asked, sitting beside him, rolling the knife between his hands.

Seamus nodded slowly, unsure of what John was going to say next.

"You're my son. That's it. I know I'm not your…real father, and I'm sorry we disagreed on many things, but I've always considered you my own, and I loved you throughout all the years and days you danced in and out of my life." John said, happy he finally told him.

But, wait…how could he ever have thought he would be able to kill his son? His dear, beloved son? No cause on this earth was worth more than his son, he concluded. He simply couldn't do this. John allowed the knife he held to fall from his grasp, clanging as it hit the floor, and smiled gently at Seamus, who looked at him with furrowed brows, curiously wondering what had caused John to ramble on and on about such topics like a madman.

"Why…why are you telling me this now? And…can you let me go now?" Seamus said, relaxing a bit despite the ropes pressed against his skin.

"Because, you're my _son_, and I –" John began to say, reaching to untie Seamus while cursing himself for ever thinking he could sacrifice him, until the door opened with a bang as many police officers rushed in pointing guns on him. Startled, John picked up his father's gun and stood up, aiming his own gun at the threats ahead.

"Drop the gun, Mr. Collins…You are under arrest for the brutal murder of quite a few people." Sheriff Byrnes growled.

"Hmm…And, what if I don't want to? You're all being rather threatening at the moment." John calmly replied.

"Seamus!" Moira yelled across the room as she ran inside, shielded by a few policemen. "Are you alright?"

"I'm _fine_, Mum…Tell him to drop the gun!" Seamus said.

"John! What are you doing? Why are they saying you've killed the children?" Moira cried.

"Because. I _have_. For Kensdale." John said.

"But…oh my _God!_ Are they dead?" Moira cried, pointing at the Flynn boys in the corner.

"Sir, are those the Flynn's children?" One police officer harshly whispered to the sheriff.

"Just focus on the threat." Sheriff Byrnes whispered back. "Now, please just give up and drop the gun." He called out.

"I'm not going gently, son…" John smiled at Seamus, who quivered and trembled at the sight of so many guns pointed in their direction.

"John….No…_Dad…Daddy?_ Please stop? Please…" Seamus tearfully pleaded, struggling against his crude restraints.

"Thank you…for saying that." John smiled downwards, nothing but overpowering love flooding his mind at the moment, chasing away all the apprehension, and shifted slightly away from Seamus to draw the guns pointed in their direction a bit further away from his son.

"John! Stop! They're going to _shoot_ you! Just put the gun down!" Moira shrieked, attempting to run towards him only to be held back by some policemen.

"Oh, Moira…The times we could've had together…We could have been absolutely _fantastic_…You, Seamus, and Me? If things were different, oh my _God_ just _think_ of all the years ahead…Life's so _changeable_…And, look where we are today…With these guns pointed at me…like a beast taken for slaughter!" John rambled, tightening his grip on his gun.

"John…_Please…_" Moira cried out.

"I've done everything for Kensdale, you know…And, these people…_if_ they get to me, then you know what will happen. Judgment will be passed, and I will die. Either way, I die very soon. The only difference is _how_." John calmly said, his heart rate speeding up. He peered at the Americans behind the lined policemen. They grimly looked on with their bulletproof vests, probably debating the odds of him dropping his weapon.

John knew how it would all end…Gazing into the determined faces of the policemen, their eyes hungry for his shed blood, he knew he could never give himself up for them.

His mind flickered back to little Stephen Hayes.

He died sniveling, yes…But, he died _fighting_.

So _brave_…for a little boy.

And, my _goodness_…John thought of Jeremy Flynn, whose unconscious body lay a few feet away.

My _God_ look at his _passion…_He _fought_, tears and all, with undeniable passion…without the fear of death.

John closed his eyes and simply smiled…because that was absolutely all he could do. Nobody appreciated what he had done for Kensdale…but that didn't matter…

To him, he felt so accomplished.

To him, he had thought he had helped so many.

To him, he had won, and there was simply nothing else to do.

And now, he would not go without a fight…

But, a trembling voice brought him back to reality and away from his musings. "_Dad…_I _love_ you…_Please…_Can't you give up now?" Seamus cried.

"Oh, son…I just _can't_ give up, though. I love you, too. Take care of mum, will you?" John smiled sadly at his son, taking his eyes off of the guns trained on him at the moment.

And, ignoring the rest of the pleas and agonizing crying coming from his family, he relaxed himself and smiled a smile filled with finality and triumph. Raising his gun, he aimed it at some random police officer and squeezed the trigger.

And, in that split second that followed, time seemed to pass by so _slowly_.

So many bangs and screams followed, but that split second seemed like the longest period of time, and ironically, John had never felt so alive.

_I've done all I can…and to me, that's good enough in this bewildering life…_John thought in his final seconds before he felt quite a number of bullets tear into his body, ripping away his _breath_…his _life_…

And then, he knew no more.

Within us all, there's a desire to be a _hero_…to help people….to help our country… But, sometimes, we take it _too far_…_way too far…_And that moment in which we take things too far? _That's_ when we start being the _unsub…_the _villain_ that other heroes try to stop…

That much was evident as the team crowded over John's dead body, punctured with quite a number of bullets. Peering at the fallen man, they noted an eerily peaceful sense of fulfillment frozen on John's motionless face.

He was a hero in his own mind…a selfless hero, but in the minds of others, he was nothing better than a monster.

But, as some policemen carried his body outside and others phoned their love ones that their town monster had perished, a sense of relief seemed to pass through the town. Safe….They were _safe_. No more would parents have to overwhelmingly worry about their children's wellbeing and safety.

But, as for peace?

Well, there was none.

It is a sad day when lives are brutally ended, but it, believe it or not, those days can grow even more heart-breaking when those lost lives were just….so _young_. Just think of all the things those children will have never been able to do. Look now, upon the faces of the broken, broken parents as they feebly struggle to go on through life without their own children brightening up their life. Now, they will never hope to one day walk their daughters down that aisle and will never hope to proudly look at their sons as they show them who they have chosen to love for the rest of their lives.

All that remains is just that hollow silence left from the vacantly empty rooms of lost children and the holes torn from those irreparable hearts of those left behind. All of this…just because of one man who had initially held good intentions for his country, but executed his delusions in the most inhuman and cruel methods possible. But, in the end, the town must learn to one day perhaps….rebuild their lives that had been torn apart. But, never, ever, _ever_ would they forget those children…those once happy children whose laughter was silenced and their lives cut short…all by a man who believed he was doing them all a favor...

OoOoOo

"Hello? Ah, yes…I'm calling about a Diana Reid? Do you know if she's out of surgery yet?" Reid asked as he stood in the police station, packing up a few of his things.

A voice on the other end answered him. "Yes…Surgery went well, and she's now recovering…Would you like to speak to her?"

"Yes, please…That would be great." Reid said, feeling nothing but relief in this moment.

"Hello? Spencer, is that you?" Diana Reid's voice crackled through the other end.

"Mom….Oh, Mom…Are you alright? Honestly, I don't know what I would've done if you…you know…_died_…" Reid said, his voice trembling a bit from an excess of emotion.

Diana chuckled a bit. "Oh, Spencer. You worry too much. I'm fine…I'm _fine..._That'll just teach me to not wander off into the kitchen while they're frying things for lunch…But, not today…Yes, definitely someday you'll have to bury these old bones, but absolutely not today…"

They exchanged a few more words before hanging up. Reid then finished packing the rest of his random items and swung his bag across his shoulder, moving towards the door.

"Hey, Reid!" Morgan called walking up to him. "I heard from Hotch…He's letting you come back early to see your mom, isn't he?"

Reid smiled. "Yeah…Sorry I couldn't stay and wrap things up here, though."

"Oh, it's fine…We just need to tie up a few loose ends and make sure their police department is stabilized. Garcia's been shipping in some security cameras so maybe this time they'll actually catch some things on tape." Morgan said, walking his friend towards the door.

"So, I'll see you in about a week?" Reid stated as he carefully put his bag in the waiting car.

"You got it, pretty boy. See? Everything's going to be fine!" Morgan grinned as he waved.

The ride to the airport was different without the rest of his team, but it was all right. He would see them all again in a week. JJ even asked him to babysit Henry on the next weekend, saying something about some girl's night. And, he was going home! To see his mother!

Content, Reid stared out of the window after taking any seat on the empty jet he wanted. His mother was going to be fine and their killer was caught…Suddenly, his cellphone rang, causing him to quickly fish around in his pockets for it before picking up.

"Hello? Hotch?" Reid said, wondering why he had called so soon after finishing a case.

"Hello, Reid. Before sending John Collins' body off, listen…Another white card dropped out of his coat pocket. It was his last card…" Hotch said.

"What did it say?" Reid asked. "I mean, there's no more text for him to use in Swift's essay, so…did he write something?"

"No. He took it from a Welsh poet…Dylan Thomas?" Hotch said.

Reid listened closely as Hotch read off John Collins' last words.

"Okay…Thanks, Hotch." Reid said before hanging up, a bit puzzled by John Collin's last card.

Why the sudden change in MO?

John Collins had based his killings and delusional actions around Jonathan Swift's _A Modest Proposal_, an essay. Why would he suddenly leave another note from Dylan Thomas' _poem?_

After pondering about the matter for a bit, Reid's mind finally clicked. John Collins confronted the FBI knowing there was a probability that he would not survive the confrontation. And yet, instead of throwing his weapon to the floor and seeking mercy, he chose to fight and throw himself at the police officers, eyes ablaze with determined passion.

It cost him his life.

Replaying the quote in his mind once more, the words echoing again and again, Reid realized that John Collins actions, though impulsive, were justified in his own delusional mind.

_Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage… rage against the dying of the light…_

* * *

**theangelsarecoming: Thank you for catching that mistake! It's fixed now. **

**tannerose: Oh, you should definitely read it! The satire is absolutely dripping from the words, but if you do want to read it, you can find it online. **

**A/N: And thus concludes this story. Thanks for all the support throughout the progress of the story, though! If everything works out properly, then I shall have the first chapter of the next fic posted in a week or two.**


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